Virtue
by Aengeal Gladefire
Summary: vir·tue vur-choo 1. moral excellence; goodness; righteousness. 2. conformity of one's life and conduct to moral and ethical principles; uprightness; rectitude. - Adult language/situations
1. Chapter 1

He couldn't help smiling at the first sight of the gates of Stormwind through the trees. It meant a soft bed at the end of the day and at long last, finally, a decent beer or two. And Danea, of course. His stomach growled as he wondered what masterful dinner she would have waiting for him. He was certain the angels above could not cook better.

The column came to halt as the front of the formation realigned from four across down to two so to better fit through the city streets. He took the opportunity to prepare for his homecoming celebration and wrapped the reins around the saddle horn so he could pull off his gauntlet and reach into his shirt for his coin purse. A sharp tug had it open and his fingers quickly uncovered the iron blank he sought. The size of a gold coin of the realm, it was an easy find among its smaller copper and silver companions. Orcs would turn brown and trolls toothless before he'd ever close his hand around a coin made from the king's gold.

The slug had its worth though, he thought as he rubbed its uneven edge with his thumb. It had been Danea's idea to paint the bit of scrap yellow. Lovers' gold she had called it and he smiled at the memory. The trick was that as soon as he passed through the front gate of the city, he was to toss it to one of the orphans she sponsored as a signal he was home from his tour of duty. It also served as a warning to that useless son of hers to find someplace else to stay until she had properly welcomed her man home.

His absent-mindedly rubbed his thumb across the blank's face again as he thought of how good it would be to feel her soft skin and the generous curves of her thighs again. Six months away from her and he was nearly starving to death from wanting her; remembering her smile, her smell, the sound of her voice when…

A sudden discomfort had him discreetly rising in the stirrups to find a more comfortable position. Damn, that woman had him ensnared. Fifteen years his senior but you would never guess at the way she romped about until he was a sodden and exhausted shadow of himself. He liked her well enough; certainly she was a gifted lover and cook but did he want to marry her? As he saw one friend after another marry and start a family, he felt the jaws of a trap closing on him, keeping him from the better things in life.

Danea had gotten pregnant soon after they had met and the idea of becoming a father had scared the piss out of him. He'd been more than a little relieved when she had miscarried. She had never kindled again and now that he was thinking of wanting children she was too old. He looked down at the bit of dross in his palm, the bright sunlight making every detail plain: the worn, cheap paint and the dirt caught in every imperfection.

The ring of shod hooves on stone pulled him out of his reverie. Those at the head of the column were passing through the tall wooden gates of Stormwind and over the bridge into the city. The column undulated and thinned like a snake squeezing through a rat hole. He closed his hand around the iron slug, wondering if tonight was the last time he would use it.

"Glad to be home, brother?" Duncan said from beside him as they waited their turn to continue. He nodded, his eyes on Colin's closed hand. "I guess you won't be joining us at the Pig'n Whistle tonight."

Although Duncan preferred to be clean-shaven it was as if he saw a younger self in a mirror. They shared the MacConnick nondescript brown hair and eyes, and like most of the family, were fair-skinned and lean of build. These attributes favored those who were members of the rogue guild, which was where most went. It was if a vein of contempt for honest work ran in the blood.

"Have I ever, the first night home?" he said and laughed as he urged his horse into motion again. "You ever decide you like women, you'd understand, brother dear."

Duncan shook off the jape easily as he always did and without taking offense. "I like women well enough, I'm just waiting for the right one," he said, high color flooding his face.

"You do know that as long as certain parts don't match up, you're still a virgin," Colin said quietly. "Nothing wrong with a bit of slap and tickle, boy."

"There's something wrong with that reasoning," Duncan said, shaking his head. "Just the same, speaking of women, you do need to treat Danea better. When are you going to marry her?"

"That damn boy of hers needs to find his own place first," Colin growled. "And damn me for a fool for raising him when he's old enough to be out on his own."

Duncan laughed, the sound striking deep and true to the heart of Colin's fury. "Boy? Colin, he's not but two years younger than me, ain't he?" He ducked his head at Colin's furious glare. "Sorry, sorry. I know he's a sore spot between you and Danea."

Colin turned away, struggling to keep his temper under control. "Well, it is the truth of the matter," he finally managed to say. "No offense taken." He looked over at his younger brother, the best of the lot truth be known. If he were to ever need someone at his back, it would be Duncan. He had a gift for following the straight and narrow without being a prig about it. "Just watch yourself," he growled, but he couldn't help smiling at Duncan's chagrin. "Next time the gloves are off!" he promised with a cheerfully wicked grin.

The column wound its way past the tall statues lining the bridge over the Valley of Heroes, then past the breakfront where General Marcus Jonathan sat on his horse. Out of respect for a veteran of the Second War, the men went quiet as they faced the high commander and returned his salute. Then they were through the archway in the palisade with its four massive towers that stretched across the mouth of the small valley and into the city proper.

Some of the faces turned their way showed smiles and several waved to the soldiers as they rode past. Most seemed put out though by having to wait for the street to clear so they could be on their way. That's what peace does, Colin thought grimly. It makes people forget the price paid for their soft homes, their nice clothes and the good food on their tables.

A child darted from the other side of the street, dodging the horses like natural-born rogue, and ran alongside Colin's mount. The boy smiled and waved up at him and he tossed the iron slug to him without thinking. He watched the boy run off with mixed feelings. Hiding at the barracks would do him no good; by the time they pulled Danea off his body he would have been dead too long for saving. She did deserve to have one last good night before he broke off with her. With that thought he realized he had made his decision. The momentary pang of regret that followed on its heels was brushed away as vaporous nonsense. Life moved on. It had no favorites.


	2. Chapter 2

The squadrons slowly wound their way through the stifling hot twisting city streets to the military headquarters in Old Town. Then it was wait in line to turn in the mount and then wait in yet another line to turn in weapons and armor. But that was military life, Colin thought. Hurry up and wait and then wait some more. There was nothing useful earned by fretting about that fact.

There had been a time when his life had been better. As the oldest son of a master blacksmith, whose shop had been the pride of Stormwind, life had been sweet and easy. His father had had his pick of commissions - and even dared refuse some! - until the Dwarves came. Their way with metals of all kinds was pure magic and everyone wanted their goods. Human made weapons and armor were suddenly found unworthy and the MacCoinnick shop had lost customers day by day. Then the old man's heart had gone bad, leaving him a twisted soul in a crippled body.

Now here he stood with royal issued gear in his arms, his nose full of his own stink and unable to find work in the city outside of the king's coin. Around him stood men not much different – some were certainly the dregs of the city's gutters - but some were good men, Westfall farmers who had lost their land to the drought. They all shared a common misery now, providing for their families as best they could, whether it was by slinging a blade or falling to the worst luck of becoming the home of an enemy's arrow.

Of course His Serene Lordship, the Honorable Corporal Samuelson, was standing at the quartermaster's side to oversee everything and make sure all was done properly. Colin refused to meet the other man's eye but he could feel Samuelson's gloating smile. The very sword that even now hung at the corporal's side had been bought years ago from the MacCoinnick shop. Da had demanded a fair price but the bastard had tried to haggle the old man down. Tempers had flared on both sides of an argument that had turned nasty. Now the son was paying for the father's winning blow, so to speak, Colin thought while keeping his face as still as he could. Today he wasn't in the mood to play along in Samuelson's game of bait and bite.

"Check your tally again, on that man's gear," Samuelson barked as Colin moved away at the quartermaster's nod.

"Everthin's here, sir," the quartermaster said dully. He too did not enjoy Samuelson's game but Colin could hear defeat in his voice.

"Check it again, mister," Samuelson snarled, "or I'll have you written up."

Colin kept a tight hold on his temper as the men behind him muttered and began to fidget. He could feel their anger burning a hole in his back. The side of his face itched from the sweat running down it but he held firm. Today Samuelson was going to have to get his jollies someplace else.

Finally the quartermaster finished his second tally of Colin's returned gear and Samuelson nodded his approval. Colin moved on without looking his way, keeping his face as empty of expression as he could. He headed down to the small pond behind the building that housed The Benevolent Brotherhood of the Dark Pony. Focusing only on the then and now, he stripped down to his braies and found a place to hang his clothes among others' on a nearby tree. A nod to the man sitting on the building's steps was a silent request and agreement to pay for him to watch over his things. He waded out until the water was deep enough for him to swim to where the stream fell from the heights above.

The cold spring fed water felt more than a little fine after standing about in the hot weather. He swam to the bottom of the pond, glad to feel the hours of frustration and sweat that had settled deep into his bones stripped off him. Once among the turbulent currents of the waterfall, he surfaced just at the point where some of the cascade would land on his shoulders. When he could no longer stand the pounding he slowly eased through the other bathers back to shore.

Duncan had already finished his swim and had secured a place for both of them on top of the building's foundation that was shaded by the tree. His younger brother chewed the end of a long stalk of grass as he studied something above and beyond Colin's shoulder. Colin sat down and closed his eyes as he leaned against the warm wooden planks.

"There's windows in the king's castle that overlook the higher pond," Duncan said thoughtfully. "They can see us - I wonder if they can smell us and the horses and all."

Colin peered upward with one eye open. All he could see past the top of the cliff were the blue pennants flying from poles at the tops of the castle's towers. "Ain't a noble one that knows what the sweat of honest work smells like," he said, closing his eyes again. "Might as well be smelling a pigpen, for all they care. As for the regent-lord, he's too busy keeping that gold throne warm for the king's return."

"I heard he's as honest and loyal as they come," Duncan said. "A warrior still, despite living in the palace."

Colin snorted. "High livin' ruins even the most saintly. All he's ever done is order us out to do his killing for him." He sat up and looked down at the tree's shadow stretching towards the pond. "It's getting late and I'd best be getting along, Duncan."

"You've got time enough," Duncan said. "Sunset's not for a while yet. What's your hurry?"

Colin got to his feet and tossed a silver to the watchman then pulled his clothes off the branch. "I want to look for something to get Danea first," he said as he shrugged into his worn leather pants and linen shirt.

Duncan sat upright and spat out the wad of chewed grass. "What's the occasion?" he said, frowning.

"No occasion," Colin said, then stared at his brother, suddenly at a loss for words. "Why shouldn't I get her a gift now and then?" he finally said, a flare of anger roughening his voice.

Duncan threw up both of his hands. "Fine, dammit, go on with you! I meant no offense, Colin."

"None taken," Colin said and set out towards the Trade District without a backward glance. The Denman's sometimes had items made by their students for sale in their jewelry shop and just maybe they had something he could afford.


	3. Chapter 3

He followed the beaten dirt path to the paved area between the mail armor shop and the city armory out to the city proper. Hot at the first touch, he noted with smug pleasure that he felt no real discomfort from the sun-baked masonry. After months of being fettered by regulations and heavy armor it was a joy to walk barefoot, even across scorching hot rough stone.

Osborne was leaning against the shop wall, dressed as usual in tight-fitting dark clothing. Colin gave him a wide berth as he marked how carefully contrived was the man's air of self-absorption. Few outside the rogues' guild were aware of the master thief's exquisite command of the art of pick-pocketing. Across the way Lieutenant Karter was obsessed with grooming her horse down to the lay of every hair on the animal's hide. It was obvious she had Osborne under watch as she was very careful to not look in the master rogue's direction. Colin walked on between them, a grin at their antics fighting to escape his control.

He stopped at the fountain to wash the last of the dirt from between his toes in one of the puddles at its base. Then spying an apple on the ground under a nearby tree he snatched it up and bit deep into the fruit, enjoying the spray of juice and the satisfying crunch as his teeth sank into the firm flesh. By the dry, numbing taste of crushed seeds on his tongue he knew he'd bitten all the way into the core. He happily chewed the mouthful, enjoying all the different tastes of the fresh fruit. Spitting out only the toughest bits, he wiped his face on his sleeve and finished off the rest of the apple in two bites. He carefully licked each finger before wiping his hand on his shirt and picked up another to stuff into his pocket for later. The food hit his stomach hard and he felt a little queasy; he was hungrier than he had thought.

A pair of lovers caught his eye near the canal bridge between Old Town and the Trade District. He had once been as besotted with Danea as that young fool was with his sweetheart. He realized he was rude for staring and moved on to cross the bridge. The jewelry store was just ahead but suddenly he didn't want to go there. He turned his back on it and studied the dark water in the canal, his thoughts as confused and obscure as its murky depths.

He had been drunk that night; uproariously drunk and angry and as wicked as the king of thieves. He'd come home from a particular bad tour in Duskwood, where things out of nightmares roamed freely, to face a father taking him to task for not producing an heir. Colin snorted and wiped his face with one hand. An heir to what, more misery? Their side of the MacCoinnick family had nothing but a name that meant nothing; was nothing. He had been but twenty-three years on this world and even he could tell hope had deserted them all.

So he'd gone to drown his father's words in beer, a lot of beer, and had started a glorious brawl that had broken nearly chair and table in the tavern. He smiled, remembering how great an achievement it had been at the time. One of the barmaids had taken pity on him and had cleaned and patched him up after he'd been thrown out on his ass. Danea Townsend. He had tried to woo her once before but she had refused him.

That night she had taken him home with her and had let him sleep on her couch. The next morning she had refused him again, saying she had more than a few years on him but at the time that meant nothing to him. She was still pretty and best of all in the following years she proved she was willing to humor him, even when his anger made him a dangerous thing to be near.

So why was he listening to the old man again and why was he willing to kick the woman who'd meant so much to him to the curb? Didn't he love her? Someone had once told him despair was the one true evil in the world. To stay with her, with no hope of having children, wasn't that giving into this evil? Shouldn't he be out looking for a young enough wife to fight it - wasn't being alive and hoping for a better future the only way to banish it?

He closed his eyes and lifted his chin to let the sun bathe his face. Bright sunlight, a clear blue sky with white fluffy clouds, a gentle breeze and home again: there was nothing better. Duncan should write a poem about it, he thought. He had to believe he was doing what was best. Turning about he opened his eyes and took in all the colors of the world again, then continued on his way to the jewelry shop.

As soon as he opened the door, Isabel Jones' gentle smile was a warm welcome as he stepped into the shop, but he knew her mistress was standing just out of sight. He could feel her presence just as the herd feels the coming storm. Sure enough, the door behind Isabel swung open and Theresa Denman stepped into the room, her eyes going to his bare feet as soon as she saw who had entered her shop. He turned his attention to the items in the case in front of Isabel before Theresa's everlasting frown came to bear on his face. Nothing of use would be earned by fighting with her.

"I'm looking for something for a lady friend," he said and then the sparkle of blue gems the color of Danea's eyes caught his attention. Three small stones that harbored the magic of a summer day lay in a froth of silver beads that would hold them in the hollow of a woman's neck.

The necklace certainly looked like it cost a bit more than what he was willing to pay, though, especially when he was thinking of ending things with her. If he loved her, then yes, he would buy it for her or make some kind of arrangement. He thought of the frown that never left Theresa's face. If he truly loved Danea he would even beard the great dragon for her.

He turned away from the necklace with a small pang of sadness and allowed Isabel to steer him towards the cheaper student crafted items. He finally settled on a little stick-pen cleverly shaped like a bee though the sparkle came from yellow glass instead of real gems.


	4. Chapter 4

Standing outside the jewelry shop with wrapped gift in hand, he checked the sun's height, paying no mind to the chimes of the cathedral bells shivering through the darkening sky. Time was in a hurry this night and he needed to get moving if he was going to have a proper visit with Gran before sundown. There was also The Promise to keep, which she had used every ounce of his love for her to bind him to it.

All along the way to the cemetery he pulled up wildflowers as he walked until he had a decent handful. Once through the shady path between the orphanage and the church, he jumped up on the low stone fence around the cemetery and trotted down its smooth, cool length until it made a sharp turn between the last two trees. At the very end of the last row of graves was a small marker. There was no name. Instead, the face of the stone had been covered with carvings of maybelles.

He laid the wad of wildflowers on top of the marker then sat down before it. "I'm home safe, Gran," he said softly so only the ghosts would hear him. Grandmother had spent most of her adult life in the city after marrying grandfather and had stayed after he had passed on. There was no one left in Moonbrook to go back to but when she died, she was buried in the graveyard there in Westfall beside grandfather. Colin felt sure her spirit sometimes visited Stormwind's; especially this grave.

"Wasn't nothin' to the tour. Just watching banked fires out in Westfall. You know how it is, still. Duncan sends his best. He's comin' along nicely, just like you said he would. He's a fine archer. Da's feeling a little down in the mouth lately. His knees, you know."

He straightened his back and cleared his throat. "Lady Farinmail," he said as he nodded to the carved monument. Gran had always loved the story about The Lady – an orphaned MacConnick girl who became a rogue clever enough to steal a blood elf paladin away from the horde. Gran always said the marker had been placed there in her memory by her husband so she could be her family. It was only for his grandmother's sake that he sat beside the thing and performed this little ritual so the thread that Gran had wound about them all went unbroken. With nearly her entire family dead or lost, Gran had adopted her husband's and she had worked hard all her life to keep them in touch with each other. Saints and sinners alike, she had tracked them all.

The fact she had never faced was that this woman she had idolized had tossed aside her human child to marry a blood elf turned traitor. That had never been an important fact to Gran, a simple blacksmith's wife. Instead she had thought the story of The Lady had been the very thing of fairy tales. She had never understood why her husband had refused to talk about his famous ancestor.

At the end of things what was there to say. In truth Argel MacConnick, the so called "Lady" Farinmail, had been a traitor, a thief and a murderer for hire. She had hung onto the coattails of that horde paladin who had been able to worm his way into the regent's good graces. Soon after she had tricked the blood elf into marrying her but her schemes had come to nothing when her child had died. It was her firstborn child, the one she had dropped at the orphanage like so much garbage, who had made good on his name and had prospered. At the end of things there wasn't anything special about her, just stupid luck. The other side of that same luck made him nothing more than a poor, stupid sod on the road between birth and the grave.

Well, it was getting late and he'd fulfilled his duties. He'd best be on his way to Danea's before she got suspicious, he decided. No use in putting it off any longer and there wasn't any need to make things end on a worst note than they needed to be. He got to his feet and brushed the lump the gift made in his pocket before heading out to the mage district.

As he walked among the buildings with their purple tiled roofs he remembered their first night together and how clever he'd thought she was to rent a home there. Most people wouldn't want to live among new mages learning to manage their spells; there was no telling when a sheeping spell would go awry. And too, who would want to live among warlocks and their bound demons? It turned out the district was no different than the others in the city and some of the magic flingers were damn good people. The best thing was that those misconceptions made for dirt cheap rent.

By the time he saw the Inn of the Slaughtered Lamb's sign through the trees, he could smell Danea's cooking. His stomach growled in anticipation and he quickened his pace. It smelled like she'd made roasted beef and probably had it swimming in a vat of gravy. He stopped at the door with one hand on the doorknob and the other on the gift in his pocket. Did he really want to do this?

Then he remembered standing in the church and watching Emmott Cutrier and his wife having their latest child baptized. Ol' Lard Ass Emmott whose fat hands were more often stained with ink than dirt from honest work and his wife had already blessed him with four children.

Da had the right of it after all. It was time for him to move on and find a wife who could give him children. He'd wasted too much time as it was. He gave the gift a final pat and opened the door.


	5. Chapter 5

Then he remembered standing in the church and watching Emmott Cutrier and his wife having their latest child baptized. Ol' Lard Ass Emmott whose fat hands were more often stained with ink than dirt from honest work and his wife had already blessed him with four children.

Da had the right of it after all. It was time for him to move on and find a wife who could give him children. He'd wasted too much time as it was. He gave the gift a final pat and opened the door.

As he entered the house the smell of Danea's cooking washed over him, an alluring hint of better things awaiting. First would be that amazing roast and gravy, hopefully with biscuits and potatoes. He was going to be a long time missing that so best savor it while he could. Then he would give her the gift. How things developed after that would decree how soon he would be departing. Well, one good thing about being poor was that he wouldn't be losing much if he had to make a run for it.

He looked to his right as it was his wont to do every first night back: to face the bad and then get past it. But her boy wasn't in his corner of the room. In fact his bed was gone and so were all of his things. Colin stared at the empty space, lost in wonder that the useless lump had finally moved out on his own.

"What are you thinking about, Colin?" Danea said from the kitchen doorway. "That quirk of your eyebrow usually means you're up to something."

He stared at her for a moment, frozen in shock. Then his battle training came to his rescue and he waved towards the empty corner of the room. "Aiden found himself another place, did he?"

She met his gaze, her face smooth and impassive as she wiped her hands with her apron. "Yes. He has." She jerked her head towards the back of the house. "Supper's on the table."

He looked back at the corner, more to buy time to master his emotions than to gloat. That set of her face meant she would brook no celebration on his part. Then with eyes carefully averted, he went past her to the kitchen where better food than what he'd had in more than a month awaited him.

She had outdone herself. A gorgeous roast sat proud in the middle of the table, coyly rising from a savory pool of rich gravy. Melted butter oozed down the majestic slopes of a mound of mashed potatoes, tiny green peas winking back at him from revealing crevasses. At the end of the table, biscuits as big around as his hand and as soft as Danea's bosom were laying on a plate in wanton abandonment.

He turned and hugged her, then planted a kiss on her cheek. "My sweet buttered biscuit," he murmured before taking his seat at the head of the table. The growling of his stomach was loud in his ears as he watched her fix his plate and when she ladled a generous spoonful of gravy over the meat, a sigh almost escaped past his lips.

The roast parted at the bare touch of his knife, allowing the gravy to run freely and encircle the potatoes. He put the forkful into his mouth and the pleasure it generated was so strong his tongue arched in glorious pain. Next he scooped up some potatoes and peas and he played with each tiny green bead in his mouth before popping it with the tip of his tongue against his teeth. The potatoes had been made with thick cream and he sighed heavily with joy at the rich taste.

"Enjoying yourself, are you, dear?" she said with a smile. He could only nod, his eyes half closed in bliss. Her smile widened then she turned to her own plate.

Finally he leaned back in his chair, his plate nearly spotless and his belt about to squeeze him in two. He stood up and took the package out of his pocket and set it down beside her plate. She looked up at him, that guarded look back on her face.

He smiled and nodded to her and she picked it up as if it would bite. She gently unwrapped it, careful not to tear the paper and then studied the thing in her hand as if uncertain of what to do with it.

He took it from her and then fastened it to the front of her shirt. All the while her blue eyes watched him but he did not look their way. As he went back to his chair he heard her chair scrape across the floor but she was only going to the cupboard.

"This calls for a proper celebration," she said as she took down a small dark jug. She poured him a generous slug of the brew while pouring a smaller one for herself. She sat back in her chair and raised her glass to him, saying, "To the good times, sugar lump!"

He tossed back the fiery stuff and then laughed as he slammed the glass down on the table. Suddenly she jumped to her feet and ran to his side and hugged him. He looked up at her in confusion but she bent down and kissed him on his mouth. "My darling sugar lump," she whispered as her lips brushed his closed right eye.

He was asleep before she could kiss the other.


	6. Chapter 6

He woke up stiff and sore in every muscle, his befuddled mind snagged on the question of why her mattress felt like a rock. One side of his face was wet – he'd slept so hard he had drooled on the pillow. Danea had taken all the covers again and he was chilled to the marrow of his bones. He tried to move into a more comfortable position but his body would not obey.

Thunder softly rumbled in the distance but the bed shook as if the storm was right on top of the building. Then the thunder boomed again and this time there was splintering crack afterwards as if something had been knocked to the floor. He heard voices, some loud, some as whispers. Then a raucous high pitched laugh rang out, making him cringe. He recognized the sound but for the life of him could not remember who it belonged to.

Rough hands grabbed him by the arms and pulled him to his feet. He sagged between the two supports on shaky legs, panting from the stabbing pain of a sudden headache. Someone slapped his face and a scream of agony caught in his throat.

"Mac!" someone shouted into his ear, sending a nauseating stab of pain through his skull. "Mac, can you hear me?". Colin knew the voice but couldn't put a name to it.

"Damn, she's nearly killed him!" someone said from his other side. Again, he recognized the voice but its owner's name escaped him.

"She gone?"

"Of course, she's gone! She stripped the house and stripped him bare too!"

"You two get him walking." That was Emmott, Colin realized. Trust a staff sergeant to jump in and start ordering people around. "Duncan. Go to my house and ask my wife for some clothes for him."

Colin carefully turned his head, the joint popping as he did so, to see who was holding him up. Yea gods, but his head hurt. The man smiled back at him and Colin remembered his name was Jax.

"Hey Mac," Jax said, the grin pulling his mouth to one side. "Good to see you back with us."

"Told you that bitch was a hard one," the other man said. And that was Tomas, the owner of the loud, mocking laugh.

Colin turned his gaze back down to the floor and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. There was an ache in his chest that went deeper than Hell's abyss. Jax and Tomas brought him up short and Emmott grabbed him by the jaw. Colin planted his feet and tried to shake them off but it was if he were trying to push over mountains.

"Dammit, Emmott, make him mad, now," Jax said. "Don't be thinking there's no fight still in him!"

"Actually that would be best for him," Emmott said and his soft voice with its cultured tones sent waves of angry fire along Colin's backbone. "He needs to burn the rest of that poison out of his blood."

"I wouldn't figure poison to be Danea's…" Jax began thoughtfully.

"Here!" Duncan shouted as he ran into the room to Colin's side, who shivered at the waves of pain his brother's voice sent through him. "Got him some clothes." He shook out the folds of one of the bundles and dropped it at Colin's feet. "Raise your feet, Colin, and step into the pants."

"You can help him pull 'em up, Duncan," Tomas said. "I ain't gettin' no ways near _that_."

"Not like you to be afraid of being so close to glory, there Tom," Jax said, laughing. "Unless you're jealous?"

"Shut yer damn filthy mouth," Tomas said and stomped his way across the floor and out the door. Colin felt every stomp shaking through his head like steel spikes being driven through his head. You'd think he would be used to the pain by now.

Jax wiped the tears of laughter out of his eyes. "That was too easy but it was still funny," he said.

Colin stood mute and still as Duncan knelt at his feet, moving only when his brother gently tapped the back of his knee. The fog was gone from his senses but he felt far from willing to join in on their banter. When they had finished dressing him, Emmott's clothing hung loosely on his frame but it would be good enough to get him to his father's house.

And after that, he wasn't sure where he was going. It pretty much didn't matter.


	7. Chapter 7

Duncan took hold of his arm, saying gently, "Let's go, Colin."

He raised his eyes to his brother's and nodded, then took a cautious step forward only to find himself wavering on legs that suddenly didn't belong to him. Duncan's grip tightened and Colin grabbed his brother's other arm for support until the dizzy fit ended. Finally he straightened and nodded again, then headed for the open door hanging askew on broken hinges. Beyond it a sunlit stone path meandered through green grass sparkling with dew.

"Don't be surprised if he has to vomit, Duncan," Emmott called after them. "Colin, get some rest – get well. Report in next week."

Emmott's parting words stirred his ire but it only raised its head to growl feebly before turning over and going back to sleep. He didn't even have the strength to acknowledge he'd heard Emmott's advice.

After a bit the exercise did make him feel better and it wasn't too long before he felt well enough to walk on his own. The sunlight was a soothing warmth on his shoulders but the breeze still held the night's chill. No sooner had they passed through the opening in the stone wall surrounding the mage quarter than the thick smell of the canals had Colin's stomach churning. He leaned against the warm stones, gagging and spitting, his guts twisting in agony.

"Listen to me, Colin," Duncan said as he laid his hand on Colin's shoulder. "Don't think about it." Duncan gently shook him and Colin, sickened by the motion, straightened with both hands clenched. Duncan backed away, grinning.

After a half-hearted glare at his brother, Colin turned away and spat. "Damn Emmott, that knows-it-all."

"Of course he'd know a few more things," Duncan said. "He took in more schooling than we did, is all. Can't fault a person for doing what they like. On the other hand – how long do you think he'd last against you, one on one? No use in raging over him being smarter. Just like there's no use in fighting a brother bigger and meaner than you."

Colin looked up to meet his brother's smiling face. "Ah well, I do feel a bit sorry over that, Mri," he said, using Duncan's self-made baby name.

"Now there's something new!" Duncan snorted.

"You can shut that," Colin growled. "Now I know I've said my sorrys a time or two!"

Duncan laughed. "I'm sure of it. The time and place escapes me at the moment, is all."

Colin tapped him in the shoulder with his fist and then grabbed him in a quick one armed hug before they continued on to their parents' house.

* * *

><p>Mother must have been waiting at the window, watching for them to come home. Colin wondered with a touch of bitterness which of the old biddies she called friend had run to her with the news. The gods help the tattletale if he ever find out who had told her. She opened the door before they had stepped over the curb to the stoop and merely nodded to them as she backed out of their way so they could enter the house.<p>

"Is that you Colin?" the old man yelled from a back room. "What's this I hear about war breaking out in heaven?"

James Matthew MacCoinnick stopped in the hall doorway and straightened, the cane idle in his hand as if it were just for show. "Certainly can tell who was the losing side," he said as he sized up his oldest son with a tight lipped sneer on his face. In the answering silence he lurched past them to take his seat by the fire.

Mother pulled Colin into the room he had once shared with Duncan. "There's some of your old clothes in the bottom of the chifforobe and there's fresh water in the pitcher." She turned and then stopped at the door. "Don't mind your da. Things will work out, son." Before he could make an answer she had closed the door behind her.

He sat on the edge of his old bed and cradled his head in his hands. He was at the bottom of a pit he was never going to crawl free of. How could he have loved a woman who had had the balls to kiss him one moment and then in the next poison him nearly to death? He was just that stupid, that's why.


	8. Chapter 8

There was a soft knock at the door, then it swung open and Duncan stuck his head in just long enough to smile and beckon to him. He followed his brother into the kitchen where the old man sat at the head of the table. Mother called to Duncan to help her, which left Colin free to take the best seat – the one that was the furthest away from their father.

They brought in the bowls already filled, which meant there hadn't been enough for seconds. Mother took her place at her husband's side and Duncan took the other end of the long bench, placing him across from Colin. Supper was the usual fare he remembered and it looked like the potato and carrot soup had been heavily watered down to stretch one person further. Colin thought wistfully of Danea's cooking and smothered a sigh. Aside from the sounds of crockery and tableware in motion, supper was quiet under a looming air of unease. Mother pushed the food around in her bowl, unable to eat, her distress over the poor meal plain in every line of her body.

"Best for you to be shut of that woman," the old man said, shattering the heavy silence. "She's too old to have children. You are the oldest of the oldest born, the line unbroken since the first MacCoinnick. You would have us lose that too?"

Duncan jerked his head up and opened his mouth to comment but Colin kicked his leg under the table. It was not a good time to start a fight. Duncan traded him glare for glare and then finally returned to eating his food.

Colin hunched his shoulders and looked down at his bowl without answering his father. None was expected, anyway. His stomach was still in knots so he chewed each morsel carefully, letting his body decide whether each bit was friend or foe before swallowing it. He suppressed the urge to stretch to work out his aches and pains lest his parents take it wrong.

The old man said nothing more, his point made. He returned to scooping up the vegetables as fast as he could, the oversized spoon tightly gripped in his one good hand, then lifting the bowl to noisily drink the liquid. He got to his feet without a single word and returned to his chair next to the fireplace.

Duncan jumped up and kissed his mother on the cheek before heading for the door, promising to meet up with Colin later. Colin helped his mother gather up the dishes and followed her to the small cubby she used for washing. She set him to pump a bucket of water, which he poured into the kettle on the stove to heat.

Then she had him put the benches sit-side down on the table so he could sweep the floor. When the water was hot enough, she bade him pour some of it over the dishes in the sink.

"You're always been our protector, Colin," she said softly with a glance toward the kitchen. "It's time you looked after yourself." She laid her soapy hand, hot from the dishwater, on his arm to hush his protest. "I remember that time you were not but nine or ten years old. Some bully had knocked down a boy with a withered arm and you called him out on it. Twice your size and you still took him on.

"You've always been the protector but the old man's not so fierce these days," she said as she went back to scrubbing the dishes. "Besides, I keep the whiskey locked up."

"Are you saying you don't need me anymore, mam?" Colin teased. "Once the barn door's shut there's no coming back?"

"I'm saying you need to start looking after yourself, now. Have you thought about looking in on your friends in Goldshire?" she said. "You were thick as thieves with that Bashere boy, weren't you?"

As hints went it was as big as a mountain but gently delivered. True enough this was no place for him to stay – give it a few more hours and he and the old man would be at each other's throats.

She leaned closer and he bent his head to listen. "I hid your blacksmithing tools from your da," she whispered. "Under the boards under Duncan's bed."

He hugged her and kissed the top of her head, comforted by her undying love. "I'll go tonight," he whispered.

"You go right now," she said as she pulled away to look up at him. "Get your tools – that's the last of your life here. Go to Goldshire and see where it leads from there."

He started to protest but she frowned and shook her head. The bones of her shoulder stood out under his hand and for the first time he saw that her hair had gone completely white. Her clear blue eyes with their darker outer ring sternly met his from among their nests of wrinkles. He'd learned a long time ago not to fight her when she had that look. He might as well be trying to hold the sun up from setting.

He bent down and kissed her cheek and went to get his tools. They were right where she'd said, in an oiled leather bag, and he gave it a shake to rouse out any squatters before throwing it over his shoulder. Then he went out the door without another word to anyone and headed south for Goldshire.


	9. Chapter 9

He headed towards the city's gates, eyes on the ground as he moved among its people. For once he was glad for his reserved nature – there was a very slim chance he would meet anyone who would stop him and offer their sympathy. For all the pain they caused it was a wonder why everyone made such a fuss over needing friends. Letting people get close to you just gives them more weapons to hurt you. The moment he stepped past the city's tall wooden gates and into Elwynn Forest proper he heaved a sigh of relief. Given enough time all he would hear would be bird song and the sighing of the wind through the massive trees. Only then would he feel safe again.

The forest that crouched at the feet of the hills encircling Stormwind was old and in some places rumored to be haunted. By royal decree it was greatly thinned and had been cut back where it drew near the city gates. Sunlight played in the grass outside each tree's shadow, setting ribbons of bright flowers alight as if they were spilled jewels. Small animals leaped or hopped as they searched for food and he heard the howl of a distant wolf; a reminder this was not an entirely peaceful land.

As he walked his shadow kept close company and by that he figured he would reach Goldshire a few hours shy of the sun's setting. Most of that town's merchants would still be at their work but wouldn't mind him interrupting them as he asked about for a job. After all he did know most of them from his days in school at the nearby Northshire Abbey.

When he was younger … He stopped and stared into the forest, remembering how long ago he'd run among the trees like a half wild creature in his own little world. There had been an old abandoned house at the top of a hill and sometimes the windmill would spin, sending out eerie sounds into the night air. He remembered a swift stream somewhere in the forest that flowed even in the dead of winter. The trees around it had been hung with hundreds of icicles while large tufts of grass had been buried under the snow. He had stood at the edge of the water, fascinated by its black depths and dark song, wondering if there were fish.

True enough that by the time the sun's light was casting his shadow quite a ways ahead of him, he found himself among the outlying buildings of Goldshire. The sound of a hammer striking metal drew him to the smithy and he stopped in the doorway as the heat from the forge swept over him.

A human male was holding a length of metal on the anvil while his striker, a short female, pounded the iron with a huge sledge hammer. The smith would tap the hot blank and the woman would strike that spot, the pounding and the metal singing in answer making a glorious music. Colin stepped out of the doorway into a corner of the smithy, not wishing to disturb them and set his bag of tools in the corner. After a moment he realized the woman was a dwarf. No wonder she could drive the hammer with such powerful grace and easy precision.

The man was his old teacher, Argus, and his face looked like the years had settled harshly upon him. However many years sat upon him, he still went about roughing out the sword blank with a sparse beauty of movement - a lifetime of the same work refined down to its least components.

Finally Argus was satisfied with their work and set the blank aside for finishing later. He looked up at Colin and smiled. "Well, hey, Colin," he said as he wiped his hands on a rag barely less dirty. "What brings you to this part of the world?"

"Lookin' for work," Colin said, stepping forward to shake his old teacher's hand. "Anything going on 'round here?"

"There's some; always some for those willin'," Argus said. "Are you hungry? We can talk about it over dinner. Your tools will be fine where they are."

"Wait," the dwarf said, hands on hips. "I have a question for you, Argus-Friend."

"Ah, my manners," Argus said. "Colin, this is Keerston Newiron; Keerston, James Colin MacCoinnick. I was the first to teach him the right end of a hammer."

The dwarf laughed. "I have a question for you, Colin," she said and Argus groaned and shook his head.

From Argus' reaction, Colin figured he was in for a joke and smiled at her. "Yes?"

Keerston looked up at him, her lips curling despite her efforts to tame a growing smile. "When someone asks you to 'hold that thought', which muscles do you clench?" she said, her blue eyes sparkling in the dim room.

Colin stared back at her, at a loss for an answer. How would one hold a thought, he wondered. She openly smiled then, baring small, perfect teeth.

"Your ass!" Argus shouted in exasperation.

Colin stared at his teacher not seeing the joke and then it struck him how and he felt a laugh rumbling in his chest until he had to throw back his head to let it out. The way now open to more, Colin's body shook with laughter. Keerston watched him, delight in every part of her demeanor. Apparently her true enjoyment was in making him laugh, not in the cleverness of the jest.

Colin wiped away tears of laughter and then held his hand out to the dwarf. "Thank you," he said with a smile. "You have no idea how much I needed that laugh."

"We all do," she answered, her hand warm in his. "No one laughs enough."

"Dinner," Argus reminded them and led the way out of the smithy.

They walked across the old cobbled road, the setting sun casting their long shadows down its length. Colin refused to look towards Stormwind. Without that sight to remind him, he could forget plenty of things. Anyway, he figured he had a week or more before he had to report his whereabouts to Emmott. Maybe he could even wriggle a month out of him if he stooped to playing on the sergeant's sympathy.

Colin stopped dead in his tracks when he saw that Argus was leading the way to the Lion's Pride Inn. "I haven't a copper one on me," he explained. "I don't think Farley would advance me a meal either."

Argus laughed. "I don't think he will either," he said. "But come along. We'll work something out."

for Kirston - 1949-2012


	10. Chapter 10

Colin stuck his hands in his pockets and with a feeling of misgiving roiling in the pit of his belly, followed them into the building. The dwarf's mail boots were loud on the boards as they stepped into the Lion's Pride Inn's doorway. The passageway turned one way and then the other to keep out the weather and then they were in the main room. The place had not changed at all, even the same old decorative weapons and shields hung on the walls. A large table and chairs were to one side of the landing and to the other side was a smaller area set aside for the village apothecary. He wondered if Mr. Pestle was still alive; the alchemist had been ancient when Colin had worked at the inn.

Argus hailed Innkeeper Farley, who was standing at the far end of the room with another man. Farley waved back and came towards them after wiping his hands on a cloth.

"What will it be, Argus, Miz Newiron," he said. The innkeeper paid no attention to Colin and he dared hope there had been enough time for his old boss to forgive old wounds.

"Table first, Farley. I want to ask you something before we order," Argus said. The innkeeper flashed a sudden, sideways glare at Colin. No, apparently those wounds still bled, he decided, judging from the intensity of that look.

Farley led them down the landing steps to a table set on the ground floor next to the fireplace. The dwarf sat with her back to the dancing flames as if she were cold. Argus sat at one end and Colin took the other as he preferred not to sit with his back to the front door.

"Colin here is looking for work," Argus said. "Has anyone come by and dropped off a word or two of some?"

"I could point you in the direction of a few come the morning," Farley said. The innkeeper crossed his arms and openly smiled at Colin. "Work for me tonight and you'll earn your meal and a room for the night," he said.

Colin knew he was expecting him to refuse. The last time he'd walked out that door it was with the shouted promise of never working for the innkeeper ever again ringing in his own ears. He grit his teeth, knowing Argus was probably sharp set to paying for his own food and would insist on paying for his too if Colin turned down Farley's offer.

"Deal," Collin said and thrust out his hand. The astonished look on the innkeeper's face as he took it, and quickly dropped it, was almost worth the pain of putting it out there.

When Farley had left with their orders, Argus leaned forward with a big smile on his face. "Good on you, Colin," he whispered.

"I've heard about your fight with the good innkeeper," Keerston said. She studied him intently with that strange smile on her lips. "You don't like losing," she said softly.

His face burning, Colin looked down at the table and gripped its edge so hard it almost cut into his hands. "No. I do not," he said quietly, the words coming out through sheer force of will. He took a deep breath and made himself relax into his chair. He had no idea what to do with his hands. Finally he crossed them and looked off to one side, away from the dwarf's sharp eyes.

"Well, you know, nobody learns anything from winning," Keerston said gently.

Colin slowly turned his head and locked his eyes onto her's. He couldn't open his jaws to speak; the words just would not come out. Then he remembered how easily she had swung that sledgehammer and a bit of reason broke through his anger. The dwarf was half his height but when it came down to it, she could stomp him through the cracks in the floor without breaking a sweat. She sat unaffected by his gaze as if she were but taking the air outside her mountaintop home. Finally he turned away and sat up straighter, then rested his arms on the tabletop. It was the best he could do.

Farley brought out their food and they ate in silence. At one point Colin glanced up at Argus and his teacher winked at him, letting him know he had no hard feelings. Colin looked down at his plate, suddenly ashamed all the way to the pit of his soul. For the love of mercy, just how old was he, he chided himself. Him a grown man and he was acting like he still wore diapers. It had to be all Danea's fault, turning his world upside down like she did. He just hadn't gotten his bearings yet. That had to be it.

Keerston was the first to finish her meal and reaching into a pocket, she brought out a few silver coins which she laid out on the table. It looked to be enough to pay for both her and Argus's meals. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Colin," she said as she got to her feet.

Colin stood and held out his hand, suddenly repentant of his earlier bad manners. He was glad to see her take it so quickly and more so to see her smile with real enthusiasm. "Pleasure to meet you too, Keerston," he said.

Argus walked up and took his hand, then surprised him by pulling him in a quick, fierce embrace. "You've become a fine man, Colin. Come by the shop tomorrow if you can and we'll work the dust off your blacksmithing skills."

"I'll do that," Colin said, laughing. He watched them leave, waiting at the table until they waved a final time at the door before sweeping up the coins and picking up all the plates.

Farley was waiting for him in the kitchen and watched him scrape off the plates and set them by the sink. A smile just short of an insult crossed his face as Colin held out Keerston's payment for him to take.

"You are a good worker and you're honest almost to a fault," the innkeeper said as he shook the coins in his fist. "Keep that damn temper of yours in check tonight and you can keep your tips." He shoved the money into his pocket. "I'll even put in an extra good word in for you for a job. Deal?"

Colin grabbed up a dishrag and looked down at his hands as he wiped them clean, annoyed at Farley's offer. For a man who was going to be out just one meal and one room's rent for a full night's work, it was pure arrogance for him to think that was a generous offer. But it also meant he would have a few coppers extra come morning.

With a deliberate calmness that would have made his mother proud, Colin took the proffered hand in a firm grip and shook it. "Deal," he said. The saints in heaven would have to forgive him for not returning the innkeeper's smile as well.


	11. Chapter 11

It was coming up on midnight when trouble in a shape well known to him walked in the door – Danea's son, Aiden. The boy and his two friends were still in their armor despite the late hour; no doubt to impress the ladies. Certainly they were never ones to work up a sweat and thus feel the need to bathe or change their clothing.

Aiden's face flushed deep red when he saw Colin but one of the jackanapes with him burst out laughing. After a moment's shock Aiden turned to go back out the door. His friends each took an arm and pulled him further into the inn despite his struggles to escape. As they passed Colin, the two youngsters each freed a hand only long enough to drunkenly salute him and then all three fell into chairs around the table on the landing.

Colin heard his name called just when he had made up his mind to go to their table and confront them. Duncan, Jax and Tomas were standing in the doorway. Duncan ran up to him and without a word one, grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the stairs. Colin dug in his heels but Jax pushed him on while Tomas took his other arm and the three of them dragged him up the staircase. They pulled Colin into the first empty room and Jax closed the door behind them and stood in front of it.

"What in bloody hell is going on here," Colin said. He looked at his brother's face and each of his friends' but they stared back at him without saying a word.

Duncan nodded to Jax and they each took Colin's arms. "Hold him," Duncan said and Tomas threw a bag over Colin's head from behind. "We're here to help you, brother dear," Duncan said. "Tie his arms behind him!"

Colin tried to set his feet but someone kicked the back of his knees and he went to the floor. At least they had tied him up without the cords cutting into his flesh.

He started to curse but someone clapped him on the shoulder. "Shut up and listen, Colin," Duncan said. "Danea didn't poison you. It was Aiden and his friends. They're the ones who stripped you naked. They're the ones who gave you the purgative.

"We just came from the barracks." Duncan gently shook him. "Colin, she shamed him in from of his entire company. She chewed him up one side and down the other until I thought he was gonna cry."

Colin sagged between his two captors, stunned nearly senseless by the news. "Danea," he finally whispered. "She hadn't …"

He leapt to his feet and blindly surged towards where he thought his brother stood. "Get me out of this damn thing," he yelled as he was caught and held in place. "I'm gonna kill him!"

"No, you're not," Duncan said calmly. "You are going to be a good boy and stay here all nice and quiet. Your 'friend' Corporal Samuelson is here too, Colin. He's just waiting for you to fuck up and do something stupid – such as killing a fellow soldier."

Two sets of hands pushed at him, trying to make him sit on the floor again but Colin shook them off. "Hear me out, Duncan," he said desperately. "I have to finish up my work for Farley tonight. He said he'd put in a word for me tomorrow – help me get a job."

The bag was pulled off his head and he found himself face to face with his younger brother. "Farley? Are you lying to me, Colin? You've sworn certain dead bodies would be decorating the floor before you'd ever work for him again."

"Things change; people change," Colin said with a shrug. "And if I can stand to work for him again, I can stand being in the same room with Aiden Townsend. Now let me go. I've got work to do."

Duncan shook his head. "You're a damn bad liar …"

Someone rattled the doorknob and then pounded on the door. "MacCoinnick!" came a yell from the other side and of course it was Farley. "What the hell are you doing in there?"

Colin smiled at his brother. "M'boss is callin' me, baby brother. You'd best let me go."

A key turned in the door's lock from the other side and then it was swung open with enough force to hit the wall. Farley stood for a moment in the doorway, taking in the sight of Colin with his hands tied behind his back and surrounded by three other men in the room.

"This is about that Townsend boy and his friends, ain't it," Farley said, jerking his thumb back over his shoulder as he came into the room.

Duncan shook his head and smiled. Trust an innkeeper to keep abreast of the latest gossip.

"It is and it isn't," Duncan said. "We're just talking some sense into Colin, here."

"I've got all the sense you need, Colin," Farley said, turning to him. "It says to get your ass downstairs and work off what you owe me." He shook his head and held up one hand when Duncan made to protest. "It also says there'll be no fighting or I'll have you thrown in jail." He put his hands on his hips and glared at Colin. "That enough good sense for you?"

"Yessir," Colin said, nodding with his eyes on the floor. He turned to Duncan. "Untie me, would you?"

"Remember Samuelson is downstairs too, waiting for any excuse to clap you in irons, Colin," Duncan said quietly. He went about doing as he was told, but not without a needlessly stiff jerk or two on the rope. He straightened then twisted the bit of rope into a bobbin and tossed it to Jax. "I don't suppose you could ask Townsend to leave, would you, Farley?"

"He's a paying customer and he has every right to be here same as you," Farley said. He rounded on Colin. "You keep that damn temper of yours on a leash, mister, and there won't be any trouble. And lower that damn eyebrow or I'll take it down for you." He favored them all with a disapproving glare and then turned to leave.

Colin headed out the door without a word to his friends or to Duncan. Aiden had turned on his own mother, making her out to be someone who would poison without a care. Farley had no worries about him fighting the boy; killing him though was another matter. And with Samuelson downstairs to add to the fire, ah damn, there was a fine mess brewing, indeed.


	12. Chapter 12

He went down the stairs and the music and the loud talk trailed off and all went quiet. He looked up to find himself the focus of a room full of expectant onlookers. He raised his hand to quickly brush his temple with the tips of his fingers in a cocky salute to the sea of faces, then went about collecting dirty dishes as if that was his sole purpose in life. No sooner had he rounded the corner into the kitchen than the noise bloomed again behind him and he couldn't help smiling. Hell, even he wasn't that easy!

"A moment of your time," Farley said from the kitchen doorway. Colin let the dishes slide back into the water and took the dishrag off his shoulder to dry his hands. He suppressed the urge to demand what the innkeeper wanted, interrupting his work.

The crowd was singing the battle hymn, 'Call to Arms', their voices filling the room with a growling roar –

- against all enemies, attack, invade!

- and Colin couldn't help humming along as he joined the innkeeper at the kitchen doorway. Farley pointed at a man sitting by himself at one of the smaller tables. "Old soldier that shows up here from time to time. Keep an eye on his mug for me but just the cheap stuff, understand?"

"What regiment?" Colin said as he sized up the elderly soldier's thin frame.

"I don't know, he's not one to talk. First day in here he was wearing livery I've never seen before – red and purple. Damn eyesore if you ask me. Anyway, he won't take food but he'll take the beer."

"Will do," Colin said, suddenly curious. "I'll do that now."

The soldier sat hunched over at his table, shoulders high, with both hands over his ears.

- Welcome fate, welcome war!

Colin reached out and gently touched the man's shoulder and the old soldier exploded out of his chair.

"Stop it, stop it," he screamed. "Stop! Stop!" In the answering silence he stood with chest heaving but his eyes were fixed on something only he could see.

He looked from one side of the room to the other, tears running down his face. "Welcome war - Welcome to the Way - the Glory Road." I was there. I saw what the Horde call The Path of Glory. They had taken them all, the old, the young. Babes in their mothers' arms. The horde paved their path of glory with the bones of innocents – miles of bones – as far as the eye could see. These Glory Roads, they're all the same. Alliance, Horde, all the same."

Colin put his hand on the man's shoulder, alarmed at how sharply the bones projected under the old soldier's shirt. "Can I get you something, brother?" He gave the man a little shake to draw his attention. "What do you need?"

Blue eyes that were so light as to be almost colorless met his with a blank stare. Whoever had been there behind them was now gone.

"Incoming," someone yelled and the old soldier grabbed him and dropped them both to the floor. There was a pop as something broke nearby and Colin's face stung from a spray of small particles. The old man was sprawled across him and Colin gently rolled him off to one side. Blood seeped from behind the man's head. Broken pieces of pottery littered the floor; the largest piece the handle to a mug.

"Farley," Colin yelled. "Need some help here!"

He searched the room in the direction he figured the mug had come from. Everyone was on their feet, shock plain on their faces. Even Aiden's two idiot friends stood with their tankards in their hands, mouths agape. But Aiden sat with both of his hands flat on the table and no cup in sight. His eyes met Colin's with a barely tamed sneer on his face.

Colin sprang to his feet and jumped over the railing to the upper landing where Aiden sat. The boy's eyes widened and then he was up and heading for the door. The men there blocked him and pushed him back into the room. Colin jumped on the table and his momentum took him across the smooth surface to slam into the wall. Aiden used the opportunity to run down to the lower floor. One of his friends took a decorative shield off the wall and threw it to him, Colin fast behind it. Aiden had bare moments to grab the shield and slam Colin with it, knocking him to the floor.

The crowd was shouting at the top of their lungs, almost as loud as the ringing in his head. Colin got to his feet and backed up a bit from Aiden, who grinned at him over the top of the shield. He felt the edge of a chair against his leg and Colin turned and grabbed it, using its weight to swing him around. He brought it down on Aiden's shield with all his strength and the boy went down on one knee. Colin raised the heavy chair over his head and he saw the boy break - fear unmanning him as he cowered behind the flimsy shield.

A shiver ran up Colin's back, carrying with it an urge to shout with bloody joy. Strength flowed throughout his body and took away every pain, every fear, every caution. Colin brought the chair down and Aiden screamed in pain. The chair shattered. Colin picked up two of the biggest pieces and hit the shield again and again, the thin metal crumpling under the attack. He raised his crude weapons for the final blow but something slammed against the side of his head, sending him crashing against the fireplace. The material of his pants touched the back of his legs and scorched his skin from the heat of the fire.

He shook his head to try and clear his vision. Cursing a stubborn haze in one eye, he searched the room for what had hit him, to meet his brother's eyes at the other end of a cocked and ready arrow. The first shot had been to daze him; the next would take him down.

Someone had their hand on Duncan's shoulder. Colin followed the arm up to meet Samuelson's gloating smile.

"The 'Stocks' or the grave, MacConnick. Your choice!" Samuelson shouted, the joy on his face greedy and profane.

Colin looked back at Duncan and nodded. He would not make his brother choose between family and sworn duty. He clasped his hands behind his neck and knelt for them to take him away.


	13. Chapter 13

A heavy tread he recognized as someone came near and then a wide shadow stretched into the room next to his. "Get up, Colin, let's get this over with," Emmott said quietly. "Arms out where I can watch them."

Colin slowly got to his feet, thinking that the sergeant sounded as weary as he felt. Every bone in his body hurt and a cut on the side of his head stung with a maddening itch. He held out his hands and watched with a bitter ache in his chest as Emmott brought them together and looped the shackles around them. The lock closed with a final cheerful snick.

There was a touch on each of his upper arms and the murmur of a quiet voice bidding him to walk. Colin raised his head and with eyes trained front he moved towards the door, dimly aware they hadn't fettered his legs as well. The fact didn't mean much, anyway.

He was patiently helped on to a horse and his guards mounted up on either side of him while a third took up his horse's reins. The night's chill air settled on him and into his soul. The guards didn't talk among themselves; they all may as well have been at a funeral.

The rest of the troop came out of the inn and Colin fixed his gaze on his horse's mane. He didn't know if he could stand it if his brother didn't look back at him. Maybe it would be worse if Duncan did. He hell for sure didn't want to see the smile on Samuelson's face. The men had barely enough time to settle into their saddles before the corporal barked out the order to move out and then pushed them into a ground covering trot. Damn if he wasn't going back to Stormwind faster than he had left it.

The lights of the city glowed behind its tall gate and the protective mountains but all he could see was a dark path stretching out before him. He hadn't much of a future anyway, a soldier's life is short and brutal and now he'd lost what little good could be found there.

Afrasiabi was on duty at the breakfront. Colin sat up straight in his saddle, with shoulders back and eyes front. He'd not look the beaten dog before the field marshal, no matter what it cost him.

Samuelson brought the squad to a halt and saluted, saying, "Prisoner for the Stockades, sir."

Afrasiabi's responding gesture was just as quick and precise. "Report, corporal."

"Private MacCoinnick is under arrest for the attempted murder of a fellow enlisted man, sir," Samuelson said.

"Attempted, you say," Afrasiabi said, frowning as he glanced at Colin and he felt his soul laid bare by the officer's fierce eye. "I want a full report tonight, corporal," he said as he turned back to Samuelson. "Dismissed."

With several hours still left of the night Samuelson didn't bother with a parade through the city. The squad rattled over the streets like a fire brigade on its way to save a burning church. Once at the prison, Warden Thelwater was roused out of bed and Samuelson then turned things over to Emmott to handle. Colin grinned as he watched him jog out the prison door. Being under Samuelson's thumb was a pain, no doubt, but the corporal had the joy of being under the crushing weight of Afrasiabi's heel. When Samuelson made his full report he hoped the field marshal was in an especially foul mood.

While often yawning nearly to the point of cracking his jaw, Thelwater assigned Colin a cell and handed a key to one of the guards. The jailer took Colin down the steps into the prison and then into a holding area. Beyond was a double cell, separated by a small open area. One side already had an occupant who didn't stand or turn around when they entered. The guard removed the shackles from Colin's hands without comment and opened the door to the empty cell. Colin obediently went in and sat down. He'd brushed against the worst of things a time or two but he'd always managed to recover quickly. He couldn't see a way out this time, though and he buried his face in his hands, all hope fled.

As soon as the jailer's footsteps had completely faded, the other man got to his feet and the door to his cell creaked as he leaned against the bars. "Well, well, well," he said softly and Colin shivered, recognizing the voice. "Hey, Conny. Home to visit the family, are you?"

Colin looked up and nodded to him, cautious but respectful. "Cousin." He shrugged and moved to the far corner of his cell. "Things happen to the best of us." Then he mentally kicked himself for inferring that he was the better person. Family or no, he prayed for the gods help him if he managed to piss off Dugas. They had played together when children but once Duglas had gone to the rogue side of the family, they'd parted ways and afterwards seldom saw one another. There was a saying on the "respectable" side of the MacCoinnick family that a cousin rogue's business was his own and best it remained unknown.

"Fancy you ending up here," Duglas said, laughter curling his words. "Bad day from start to finish, eh?"

Colin stood and turned to face his cousin but before he could fashion a suitable retort, a guard came into the cells' outer holding area. "You have a visitor, MacCoinnick," he said, then motioned to someone standing on the other side of the door jamb.

Danea slowly walked into the room, her eyes darting about as if fearing something was going to jump on her. Not once did she lift her face to Colin's. The guard escorted her to the cell but stopped her before she came too close the bars. He leaned down to whisper something to her. She nodded and he walked back to the doorway.

Colin stepped forward and gripped the bars with both hands. He couldn't speak; he could barely breathe.

A short woman, Danea looked even smaller in the brightly lit bare room. She looked down at the twisted handkerchief in her hands. "I came to apologize for Aiden poisoning you," she said softly.

The bars stood between them, a space of a few feet, but it might as well have been a mountain of iron. Then some trick of his imagination made it seem she was being pulled away from him and with a pang of fear he realized he was actually losing her. Words to beg and plead with her were suddenly trapped behind jaws locked shut. Sweat broke out on his forehead.

"Danea," he finally said, his voice breaking as it forced its way through a tight throat. "Is he going to be all right?"

She raised her eyes then brought her chin up. After a moment her hands went to her lips and tears ran down her face. Then her look changed to a quizzical stare. "Do you mean the old man?"

"The boy," Colin said patiently. "I meant your boy, Danea. Is he going to all right?"

She stepped closer to the bars and he smelled fresh cut apples. His stomach growled as he remembered lazy-day mornings that had begun with her glorious apple dumplings. "His arm is broken in two places, the doctor said, but he's to heal up fine, nonetheless."

"I'm sorry, Danea, truly sorry." He had been stupid to think of leaving her; it was his stupidity and pride that had started the whole mess. Now that he had truly lost her, he realized how much he needed her, wanted her, and for that he was heartfelt sorry. "It was ... I appreciate you stopping by and letting me know."

She nodded, and then stood there as if at loss for what to do next. Her eyes went back to the mangled handkerchief in her hands again and she began to smooth it out. He knew then she was trying to find the right words for how she felt and he waited, glad just to be near her.

The handkerchief finally made presentable, she sighed heavily and raised her eyes to his. "I'll be in later to check in on you, Colin," she said. She turned and fled the room without saying goodbye.


	14. Chapter 14

Anger flared at her callousness and his first impulse was to turn away before she looked back and caught him staring after her like a love-sick calf. The iron bars held him fast, cutting into his hands but he could not let go of them. Once she was gone from his sight he listened for the last of her footfalls, certain he knew which were hers. Finally he sagged against the bars of his cage, feeling not much more than a wrung out tattered rag. She was gone.

"Things start happening, you're coming with me," Duglas whispered.

Despair made it easy to let his hands fall to his sides and Colin turned to his cousin. "What?"

"We're leaving." Duglas closed his eyes and cupped his hands around one ear. "Very soon now."

"I'm not going with you," Colin said as he sat back down on the ledge inside his cell. As far as he was concerned, he was in a 'six of one; half dozen of another' situation. One of life's certainties was that there was no safety in a rogue's company.

"You know how things are gonna end you stay here." Duglas's whisper was nearly a growl. "Come with me. Could be there's a way out of this mess."

Colin shook his head. "All it'll lead is deeper 'til I drown."

"Then I might as well put ya out of your misery right now," Duglas said, his narrowed eyes intensifying his hostile stance. He looked a moment away from stepping through the bars as if they were smoke and beating Colin within an inch of his life. "Better than some stranger." He smiled at Colin's startled glare and winked. "I promise you won't feel a thing."

Shouts rang out from further down the outside corridor and then the floor vibrated under Colin's feet. He had only to count to two before they heard the explosion; it had been a discreet bomb by signs. Several soldiers ran past the cell's doorway, heading towards the commotion. Something nearby snapped with a metallic twang. When he turned his head towards that noise, it was to see his cousin push the cell door open, the broken lock swinging free and the hinges groaning in protest.

"Out wit'ya," Duglas snarled, then grabbed Colin by the arm and jerked him to his feet without waiting for him to react. He pushed Colin out of the cell so hard he nearly fell to the floor, then yank him to a stop the doorway. He looked down each end of the hallway and then motioned to Colin to follow him. "Hike up them skirts, girl, and run!"

Colin stopped at the doorway and looked down the corridor. Two ogres, their massive bodies nearly filling the narrow space, were fighting a tangled mass of human and dwarf soldiers. The shouting and clash of weapons was nearly deafening. The ogres were making progress though and would soon drive them all the way back to the front doors.

Duglas pushed him on to the entrance, his hand constantly on either on Colin's back or shoulder, until his temper was about to make them both sorry. It took every bit of his control to remember Duglas was the leader and he was but to follow. There was no one at the front desk and Duglas didn't give him a chance to wonder about that strange fact, shoving him onwards towards the closed double doors of the prison. He pulled one side of the door open onto a night about to end. The sun was on the rise but the light of the new day had yet to flood the city proper. His cousin gave him no time to admire the view however and grabbing a fistful of Colin's shirt, pulled him down the street that ran along the canal.

They passed the side street that would take them either to the park or into the Mage Quarter and still Duglas ran headlong towards the buttressed wall where the canal dead ended. There was nowhere to go but turn around. Colin slowed down but Duglas grabbed his shirt again and jumped to one side, pulling them both into the canal. Colin shut his eyes and mouth to keep out the filthy water, then reeled to one side as Duglas hit him across the face. Colin surfaced, ready to trade blows with his cousin even if it meant he was committing an act of suicide.

Duglas jerked him back down into the water and pointed towards the grating at the bottom of the wall. As they swam closer Colin could feel a current pulling at him. He nodded and then grabbed the spot on the slimy, moss-covered metalwork where Duglas had pointed and pulled for all his worth. The metal's groaning protest vibrated up through his arms more than through his ears. His lungs burned from the lack of life-giving air. The grating suddenly came free and Duglas pushed him through the opening.

Desperate for air he raised his head, only to slam it against the low ceiling. Duglas grabbed a handful of his hair from behind and jerked his head back. He no longer felt the water on his lips and opened his mouth to gasp for air, no matter that half of it was the nastiest tasting water he'd ever had the misfortune to swallow. The current was strong enough that it would have pulled him under again if his cousin had not held him steady.

"Hand holds in the ceiling," Duglas panted. "Rest while you can. There's a bad spot further along before it empties into the sea."

"A bad spot you say," Colin said once he'd caught his breath. "Worst than what we just went through?"

Duglas laughed. "What can I say? They took my potions. Only good part is the other end is open"

"That can't be right," Colin said. "That'd be a hole in the city's defenses!"

"It's all in the timing," Duglas smugly answered. "Breathe deep and fast, now, get your blood thick with air. We need to get on our way."

He did as told until he was almost dizzy. Suddenly he was grabbed from behind, a hand over his mouth and his nose pinched shut. Colin felt Duglas wrap his legs around him and pulled by the extra weight of both of their bodies, his fingers slipped off the hand holds. The water closed over his head, his cousin riding his body through the rough current. They bounced off the stonework now and then and each time Colin lost patches of unprotected skin. He hoped Duglas fared no better.

The water was so cold. He could feel it draining his body's warmth until he no longer felt his hands or feet. For all his worth he tried to stay calm. If he panicked he would die. It was taking so long! No, he couldn't think of that. He desperately tried to think of songs, of Danea, his mother's face. For all his efforts control of his body was slipping away from him. He twisted in Duglas's hold but he fought an iron will stronger than his. Duglas's fingers dug into his face, holding his jaw shut. He was trapped in a slowly dying body and he heard Death laugh as it took him away, bit by bit.

Please, he prayed, let it end soon. Oh, gods, please let it end ...

And so it did.


	15. Chapter 15

His body shook with a rain of blows as if he were a rat in a dog's mouth. He could breathe. He was lying on his side. One of his arms had been thrown over his head and someone was beating him up and down his ribs at a fierce tempo. It felt like his attacker had a large stone in each hand. Colin groaned at the pain and tried to open his eyes. The light blinded him and he quickly shut them again. Rough hands rolled him over and the beating continued up and down his ribs on that side. He coughed then gagged at the taste of the foul, slimy stuff in his mouth. His chest and stomach muscles convulsed and then locked in place, closing his windpipe. His benefactor roughly sat him upright and hit him in the back, sending a surge of white, stinging pain running throughout his body.

But he was breathing. He was alive. But oh damn he was so tired. His savior gently pulled him backwards and he sagged into those helping hands like a babe. He concentrated on the whistling sound of the air in his throat as it entered and then left through his open mouth, grateful to be on this side of the grave. It had been a near thing. If his body convulsed like that again, he was certain his heart would burst from the strain. At least the beatings had stopped. He was certainly going to thank the stranger who helped him breathe again if he lived through the rest of the day. His cousin Duglas, though, him he was going to kill - if he wasn't dead already. He closed his eyes and lulled himself to sleep thinking of all the different ways he would murder his cousin. Some of the methods even made him smile.

* * *

><p>It was late enough that he knew she would be asleep. He carefully turned the key in the lock, reminding himself yet again that he still needed to lubricate the damn thing. Once inside the house, he latched it again behind him just as quietly. Her boy was still out drinking with his friends so he had plenty of breathing room before Aiden came home. Colin decided he should take off his boots but if he sat in the chair nearby that would make it would creak and that would not do at all. There were times he was sure that woman could hear the mice in the walls fart. Leaning against the door he pulled his boots off and slowly and carefully set each one on the floor before he went padding down the hall on stocking feet.<p>

She had fallen asleep with the lamp still burning and the oil was nearly gone. On his side of the bed lay her book and the eyeglasses she hated because the doctor had recently told her she needed them. He crept to her side and looked down at her, her brown hair spilling across her pillow like a blown flower. Silver threads gleamed shyly among the dark curls around her ear.

He leaned down and kissed her lightly at the corner of her eye. She smiled, her eyes still closed, then she turned over and held out her hands to him. He put each of her palms to his lips then scooped her into his arms.

"Oh, you're home early," she whispered as she returned his embrace. "I've missed you so much!"

He kissed her, a quick fierce buss, then stood up and went around the bed to his side. She snatched up her book and glasses and put them on the table beside her, then turned to watch him undress.

"I didn't stop to bathe," he warned her, suddenly self-conscious under her scrutiny. "I probably stink to high heaven."

"I do not care," she said, her voice deepening with unmistakable intent.

He climbed into the bed and she drew the covers over them both as he pulled her close. The heat from her body washed over him as she flowed against him, sending a shiver throughout his body. The cares of the world were thrown away and banished; the cold defeated and time forgotten in that warmth that waited for him alone.

* * *

><p>He opened his eyes but she was not lying there beside him. In fact, he wasn't in his own bed or even in Stormwind. The world wobbled for a bit until he remembered where he was. He missed her, he suddenly realized and with it came a sense of terrified wonder at that feeling. She had always been home when he returned, almost as permanent a fixture as any other part of his life. Now he felt he had indeed lost her despite her promise to see him again.<p>

Leaves crackled as he carefully shifted on to his back. Overhead the cold stars shone in an empty sky above the bare branches of nearby trees. His ribs still hurt like hellfire. He was lying in a depression scraped out of the earth, in a bed of dead leaves that had also been piled on top of him. He closed his eyes again, remembering that he had no one but himself to blame for where he'd ended up. Obviously the gods had decided that he had not suffered enough. That had to be the only reason why he still breathed.

"Time to move," Duglas said quietly from somewhere nearby. Colin couldn't see him from where he was laying. "Night's getting old and we have to get over Thunder Falls before daylight."

Colin sat up, letting the leaves fall off him on their own. Below them the Great Sea gently lapped against the feet of the mountains that towered over them. He didn't see a clue one of a trail up the side of what looked like a nearly vertical rise of stone and dirt. There weren't any places for trees to grow even though the mountains were worn about their heads and shoulders.

"I don't have wings," he reminded Duglas. "Nor do I have cloven feet like a goat." He frowned in the general direction of his cousin's voice. "I bet you do, though, you devil."

"It's a piss poor hideout that doesn't have a back door," Duglas said as he walked up to Colin's side.

Colin couldn't see his cousin's face all that well but he was willing to bet the smug bastard was smiling. "Nobody up there but Defias," he said, suddenly fearful.

"That is true," Duglas answered. "Shake a leg. We're expected and it will be bad manners to be late."

Colin decided his life had just taken an even greater and more horrifying turn for the worse.


	16. Chapter 16

Colin slowly got to his feet and carefully stretched his arms over his head, every movement so painful he felt nearly as crippled as the old man. There wasn't a place one on his body that didn't ache and if there had been light enough he was sure he would have seen he was covered in livid bruises. Duglas waited for him to finish his exercises with thin patience. Once Colin finally signaled he was ready, he set off towards the back of a huge boulder, crouching on his hands and knees as he searched the ground. Dead leaves fell down the mountain in a dry rustling cascade as he pushed them aside.

"There are many beginnings but there is only one true one," Duglas growled in answer to Colin's impatient sigh. "There," he said finally. "Put your hands on my boots and use the same stepping-stones or cubbies you find them in."

It was a slow drag up the side of the mountain going from one point to another. They were blind men feeling their way across unknown terrain covered in small stones that ground into their bruises. The rough grass and briars bit and pulled at their clothing. Several times Duglas called a stop while he made sure they were going the right way and sometimes they had to back track to another heading. Colin didn't mind the short rests though. His sides still ached and when they did stop he found himself nearly at the edge of collapse.

Someone was shaking him and it hurt. Colin raised his head and realized he had fallen asleep. Spit had run down his chin and he wiped it away in disgust.

"We're almost to the top," Dugas said.

"I don't hear the falls," Colin said to give himself more time to recover. He felt like he had actually crawled to hell and back again.

"Won't from where we are. We're between the falls down to Westfall and the one from a spring that's higher up," Duglas said. "Time to go. There's a bed and healing potions in the cabin. They keep it well stocked."

Colin rolled over on to his back and rubbed at his matted eyes. He looked up at his cousin and then saw why he was so anxious - he would see Duglas's face as plain as day. One eyebrow went up as the other went down when he saw the light dawning, as it were, on Colin's face. He nudged his cousin with the tip of his boot all the same, then turned and started to climb again.

Below them the feet of the mountains were still in darkness and so too would be the Stormwind docks, but not for much longer. Colin rolled over with a groan and went back again on hands and knees to follow his cousin up the slope. At least now he could see where Duglas placed his feet and hands as he climbed.

Finally they were over the top of the mountain and sliding down to a small stream in the small, deeply cut valley. The falls were now a loud and constant sound since, as Duglas had said, they were between two waterfalls. They stumbled down to the muddy bank of the swiftly flowing stream and Colin kneeled to scoop up water to splash on his face.

He looked up and down the stream but they seemed to be alone. The sides of the valley were mostly bare rock and dirt with no place to hide even the cleverest of rogues. The small of his back was tense though. He still felt horribly vulnerable with the falling water making too much covering noise. Duglas had gone further up the valley and turned to beckon Colin to follow. A well-worn path beside the upper waterfall led to a higher level where the stream made a small pond. A large dock with strangely ornate lamps posts led to a single room cabin, the only building in the valley. A dock that had no boats. There is no one about and no sounds but that of the water falling and the birds in the trees.

With an unknown number of rogues about that meant nothing. One could be sneaking up behind him that very moment. He whirled around but saw and heard nothing. Then he felt foolish when he noticed Duglas had walked on and went into the building without a care. He took another look about and then followed his cousin to the cabin.

Duglas's quiet greeting to someone inside was warning enough to Colin as he stepped over the threshold. The man, no, the youth sitting at the table stared back at them without comment. His features and coloring marked him as a possible relative but Colin had never seen him before. He remained seated; his pose relaxed with one arm on the table top but his other was hidden below it. Colin felt a moment of indecision as to who he was exactly and then the stranger's left eyebrow arched upwards while the right moved down. A MacCoinnick indeed. He met Colin's searching eyes with a thin, sardonic smile.

"Cousins," he said softly. He pointed with his chin at Colin. "I didn't expect you to be here. Care to explain?

Colin met the stranger's stare with no intent of saying a word. As far as he was concerned if anyone was to explain, it was Duglas.

"It's how things worked out," Duglas said carefully. From his tone Colin knew this was a person his cousin feared.

The MacCoinnick scrutinized Colin with eyes far older than the face that held them. "He's a hazard. You took pity on him because he was once your family." His eyes flicked towards Duglas before resuming their study of Colin. "A dangerous moment of weakness for a rogue. You will both pay if our plans go awry." The calm and confident manner in which he said that, as if commenting on the weather, sent a chill through Colin. How could someone so young be so well acquainted with the cold certainty of death?


	17. Chapter 17

Colin turned to the MacCoinnick and found himself studied with a wry amusement revealed only in the other man's eyes.

"You remind me of someone," the MacConnick said and openly smiled. That stretching of lips displayed such unabashedly good humor that Colin found himself smiling at its owner in return. Gone was the threatening demeanor of a confident murderer and instead Colin saw before him a carefree youngster who was a few years shy of his majority. "You can indeed use that to your advantage," the MacCoinnick said. "Though I would counsel you to rely more upon your own skills and good luck." He turned to Duglas. "Get him a healing potion. He looks like Death warmed over."

Colin took the offered vial with a grimace and sipped at the thick stuff to keep from gagging on it. The tingling sensation it produced in the roof of his mouth rose up through his face and sweat broke out under his eyes and across his upper lip. He closed his eyes and shivered as it coursed through his body, barely able to contain the urge to vomit.

"You must be allergic to one of the ingredients it's made with," the MacCoinnick said, his eyes flitting over Colin's face and body.

"Or he just can't be cured," Duglas remarked sourly and the MacConnick snorted and laughed. Colin gripped the bridge of his nose and squeezed, focusing on the pain to keep from embarrassing himself and spewing the stuff on the floor. The potion finally did it's work and he soon found it easier to breathe as the pain was subsided.

"This is not a business you excel at," the MacCoinnick said thoughtfully as if gently revealing a heartbreaking truth. "But I am not going to send you home, Colin. For one thing I know what waits for you there. Also, how that will logically unfold is not in either of our best interests."

Colin stared at him and frowned, wondering how the rogue master's interests had any rightful bearing on his life. Bad enough the MacCoinnick clan was a contentious bunch and needed a formal policy to keep from killing each other. Did he seek to interfere and end the peaceful separation between the two sides of the family?

The MacCoinnick smiled back at him, obviously amused at Colin's growing anger. "I feel you were put in your cousin's path for a reason," he said, the smile growing even wider and more sinister. "And I've decided you will continue on with him."

"No!" Duglas yelled and shot up out of his chair. "You said it yourself he'll ruin everything!"

Ignoring the finger Duglas remembered a moment later to get out of his leader's face, the MacCoinnick straightened in his chair and leaned forward towards Colin. "How many have you killed taking the back way out of Stormwind, Duglas?" He took one quick, sharp glance at Duglas's face before turning back to Colin. "Luck rides with _you_, cousin. Not the easy day-to-day luck of catching buttered bread before it hits the floor, but the luck that lands when things go hard, just shy of going wrong."

He smiled at Colin again then turned his full attention on Duglas. "You and I will have our talk at another time. For now, keep him safe. Go to the usual place."

The MacCoinnick stood and offered his hand to Colin, who got to his feet after a momentary startled realization the conversation was suddenly over. Then he noticed how much taller the rogue master was than he expected. He took the proffered hand with a sense of foreboding that rendered him almost completely numb. He had fallen off a mountain, so to speak, and there was no hope of stopping except for that final collision at the end. The other man smiled down at him as if Colin had spoken his thoughts out loud and clapped him on the back. Then he was out the door and gone.

Colin stood in the doorway and looked out at the beautiful scenery, completely empty of conniving rogue masters. Good heavens, even the birds were chirping.

"There's a fishing pole in the corner," Duglas said from behind him. "Go catch our supper."

"How many have you killed going through that pipe," Colin said without moving.

"Are you disappointed you're still breathing?" Colin turned and Duglas matched his stare with one empty of remorse. "It's none of your business." He nonchalantly pointed at something propped against the wall to Colin's left.

Colin turned to see then glared back at him. He then picked up the fishing pole and the small shovel beside it and went out the cabin's only door. He knew there was no winning that fight.

The sun had climbed to its full height but it was still cool under the trees. His nose caught the smell of the cabin's midden and he followed it to the back of the building. Here someone had laid down logs to contain the refuse and provide a home for worms and grubs. In no time at all he had plenty of bait and set off for the dock.

He should have found it relaxing, sitting in the shade and doing nothing more than waiting for the bobbin's bounce to signal he had an interested fish. Bugs were buzzing from the tall grass and bushes and a gentle breeze swirled around, just enough to cool the edge off the sun's warmth. There was that itch between his shoulder blades, though, that told him he was being watched and he could feel their animosity like an actual touch. It was too quiet, too nice of a place to not harbor something bad.

The bobbin went under the water with a smack and he jerked the pole up so hard the fish went sailing over his head. Shaking like a leaf, he stood and went looking for the poor thing, cussing at himself for being such a baby. The fish was covered in dirt and leaves, its gills heaving as it gasped for breath. Minding the spines in its fins he gently picked it up and took it back to the pond to swirl it about in the water before letting it go.

Poor thing had had a bad enough day, he decided, but if it was fool enough to come back to his hook then the onus was on its head. He collected himself as best he could and forced himself to settle down and concentrate on catching more fish. Man had to eat, after all.


	18. Chapter 18

The sun had fallen pass the midday hour by the time Colin had forced himself to finish gutting and cleaning the six best of the fish he'd caught. He was just too damn tired. The quiet and the sun's warmth had finally worked their magic on him and he could no longer put up a good fight against them. He yawned and had to stop in his tracks to let it finish or else trip and fall to the ground.

He at least still had command of his good sense and remembered to tap on the door before entering the cabin. Duglas certainly had heard his footsteps and probably knew it was him but the best of manners were never wasted, especially on rogues. He slowly pushed the door wider and nodded to his cousin, then set his catch on the table. After collapsing into the nearest chair he laid his head down on his folded arms. The world seemed to wobble and spin for a moment as exhaustion rippled throughout his body. In the next tick he was asleep.

The pain in his arms pulled him from the hold of a bottomless slumber. Still befuddled from the strength of its hold, he pushed himself back in the chair with his elbows then vigorously rubbed his hands and face to rouse himself. The sound of a metal plate scraping across the tabletop startled him and he blinked furiously to force his eyes to focus.

The tall, dark blur standing over him resolved into being his cousin, who moved away and sat down next to the fire. A bright flare of light sent dancing shadows around the now dimly lit room and then the smell of burning tobacco told him Duglas had settled down for a smoke. They were alone in the cabin.

"Eat your dinner," Duglas muttered around the pipe's stem in his mouth. "Nearly time for us to go."

Colin stared at his cousin, bemused by the sight of Duglas calmly smoking the long-stemmed clay pipe as if ready to discuss the day's chance of rain or when his favorite cow would drop her calf. Duglas took askance at that regard and gave him the MacCoinnick eyebrow salute. He then tapped out the pipe and cleaned it before placing it on its stand in the shelves behind him.

The smell of the fried fish and potatoes in the plate in front of him finally caught his attention and Colin's stomach growled its need. He tore into the food at first then controlled his hungry greed lest he find a bone. His cousin's cooking wasn't as good as Danea's but it was warm and filling and maybe not all together badly made.

"More mountain climbing for us," Duglas said. "But the trail from here to Westfall is well used so no troubles like the other one. Still have to move during the night though."

Colin looked around the cabin, noting the absence of food stores and gear. "Are we to hunt as we go?"

"No, there are plenty of caches hidden along the way," Duglas said. "Finish your dinner; it's getting late."

After washing the dishes and cleaning the cabin they packed up and set out. The first stars were showing overhead but the trail was an easy one to follow in the near dark. The path wove among the back sides of the mountain tops, always seeking the hidden way.

"This is certainly a well-traveled the trail," Colin remarked, keeping his voice low. "Damn near a paved highway. Doesn't the king's man know about it?"

"Indeed he does; I wouldn't doubt it," Duglas said just as quietly. "Fordragon is not a stupid man. But he has enough on his hands while the king is gone. The key is to not be greedy. It would take years for us to recover lost revenue if he ever decided to clear the Brotherhood out."

They walked on under the pale light of the little moon, known also as the Blue Child, stopping only for short rests and sips of water. Finally the sky was warming with the rising sun but Duglas kept walking. "Need to get to the cache," he explained at Colin's unspoken question. "Step lively, cousin. Not far now."

Dulgas led the way into a cleft that ended at the mouth of a small cave that no one had bothered to hide. Once past the close opening Duglas stopped to light the stump of a candle. In the flickering light the cave seemed big enough to sit twenty people comfortably. A large box off to one side held several wrapped packages and Duglas tossed one to Colin.

"Dried stuff and cheese," Duglas said. "Can't have a fire this close to the garrison. Speaking of odors on the wind, it smells like it's going to rain. We'll be lucky if it waits 'til sunset before it hits."

Colin rolled out his blanket and sat down to eat. The food was edible but he felt lucky he wasn't all that hungry. Afterwards he went outside to do his business then laid down and tried to sleep. He was certainly tired enough. He could hear peaceful sounds that should have sent him into a deep, dreamless sleep. In the distance a few birds sang with the coming day and the wind swept through the treetops like schools of fish through seaweed. He almost dozed for a moment but suddenly the tiredness was gone. Danea had once said the trees made that sound when they were talking to each other and he had laughed at her. He turned over and willed himself to sleep. He was tired, dammit, and needed to rest.

Sleep eluded him however and he rolled over on his back to stare into the darkness above him. Had she feared for him when she discovered he had escaped from the prison, he wondered. She would not know if he had lived or died. Maybe she cared enough to put him in her nightly prayers, adding his name to her list of those gone or lost. He decided he liked that thought and tried to remember how her litany went. Finally sleep crept back in and took him away to the sound of Danea's soft voice.


	19. Chapter 19

The sounds of his cousin stirring about woke him but he lay still until Duglas told him to fetch water. Once outside the cave he took a moment to stretch and rub the sleep from his eyes. The sun had gone behind the horizon and the first stars were shining overhead. Sometime in the night it had rained but not enough to drench the ground. A breeze came up and shook the branches but no drops from the trees fell on him.

When he went back in the cave, filled bucket in hand, he saw that Duglas had lit a second candle and had laid out shares of food to eat. There were also larger stacks of food, which he packed away in his bag for later. Duglas filled several canteens from the bucket and then washed his face and hands in the remaining water. When he was done he motioned to Colin to do the same.

"All downhill from here, cousin," he said. "Once we're out of these mountains and over the river we'll be in Westfall. We're meeting up with an old friend of mine." He went silent and stared inward with a frown on his face. "His name is Clarendon Jandt," he finally said, his eyes boring into Colin's. "You call him 'cee-ell', after the first letters in his name. He hates to be called Clarendon and only his closest friends get to call him Clare."

With that he finished his breakfast and set the things he'd used in the cave to rights. Colin did the same and then waited for his cousin's nod before going outside. Duglas scratched up the cave's dirt floor with his boot heels as he backed out of it, destroying all evidence they had been there.

He tapped Colin on the arm and pointed back the way they'd come. "See that faint glow behind the mountains? That's Stormwind. It won't be soon enough we'll be out of sight of those eyes." He pointed to south where lights from the Westbrook Garrison shone through the trees. "We won't be seeing any trouble from there; they're not in the habit of looking for any."

With that he set off towards the west. The sound of the river strengthened as they walked but never to the point that it crowded out all sound. All kinds of little things scurried through the underbrush while their calls betrayed the owls on the hunt. The trail again wove around hills and down into small valleys, as if playing a game of Chaseme with the garrison. Duglas kept them moving at an easy pace, meaning no doubt to be over the river before daylight but not have them too winded.

They travelled without incident through the night, stopping only for small, quick meals. Duglas watched with a critical eye as Colin brought out each packet of food from his bag and often told him to put some of it back. With the rising of the sun came the sound of the river running closer and this time Duglas headed for it. They came out from under the trees with the waterfall on their right and the river flowing with great strength to lands southward. To attempt to cross it was foolhardy. Without saying a word, Duglas walked up the bank to the falls and ducked under the cascading water. Colin followed him, wondering what he had up his sleeve.

Rocks had been set down as a path for nothing else would have endured under the force of the falling water. The noise was deafening and they were almost instantly soaked by the mist. Duglas kept going once they were on the other side, leading the way down a long, gently sloping hill covered with tall, yellow grass. They were in Westfall where if the heat didn't kill you the bandits certainly would.

At first the grass was thick but the further they moved from the river the small patches of dirt grew until they walked on bare ground punctuated with dead vegetation. Dust rose with every step until their pant legs were covered. Colin adjusted his gait without being told so he wouldn't kick up any more dirt than he could help. The heat had sucked all the moisture out of his clothing, making the cloth stiff and abrasive.

The sun was coming on noon when Colin noticed they were heading for a small structure. As they got closer they stepped over the remains of a fence that surrounded what had once been a sizeable plowed field. The building turned out to be a small one room house that had seen better days many, many years ago. Duglas stopped where two squared off posts stood upended in the dead dirt, the remains of an inner fence and gate. He held out both arms chest high and turned completely around, then signaled to Colin to do the same. He waited a few more moments then walked up to the empty doorway.

"Hey, Clare," he said softly into the darkness beyond the threshold. "You up for visitors?"

"Git yer ass in here, boy," said a voice as cracked and rusty as a broken windmill. "Who that wit'ya?"

They walked in slowly, Colin following Duglas's lead. After a few moments his eyes adjusted to where he could see an old man, as scrawny as worn out leather, sitting at a roughly made table. In front of him was a jug of moonshine. The smell of the brew was thick in the hot, close air.

"This is Colin," Duglas said. "He's not in the Brotherhood but he is family."

"Hey," Clarendon said at Colin's nod. "I've been sittin' here thinkin' about wimmen," he loudly announced. It was obvious he was drunk. "Sit yerselfs down and tell me 'bout yer wimmen." He looked around the room as if seeing its ruined state for the first time. "Find somthin' to sit on, shit I don't care.

"The first time you meet sets the whole thing," Clarendon declared as the two men found seats. He turned to Duglas and laughed. "I know you got no story to tell." He pointed at Colin. "You there - tell me about the first time you met your woman."


	20. Chapter 20

Colin thought to brush the request aside but one look at Duglas's face changed his mind. "It was that night I went to The Slaughtered Lamb, the tavern in the mage quarter. I, ah, hadn't been there in a while", he began, then paused to favor his cousin with a frown at the other man's snort of derision. "I thought it'd do me some good to go to some place different. I walk in the door and stop to have a look about and I see this woman staring at me like I'd hit her a good one. I'd never laid eyes on her before – I didn't know her at all."

He paused for a moment, remembering. "Her eyes are blue," he said softly. "Like the sky after rain and the sun comes out. She isn't pretty and her hair is brown; mousey. While I'm trying to remember if I knew her or not - sometimes I do drink a little heavy - this look of terror comes over her face, which is now white as snow, and she turns and walks quick like to the back. I get to wondering what someone had tol.. Anyway," he said loudly over Duglas's burst of laughter, "I wondered why she was acting that way."

Clarendon hissed at Duglas, then motioned to Colin to continue.

"I follow her into the kitchen and she sees me and runs down the stairs to the cellar. The cook yells at me to not start any trouble but I wave him off and follow the girl. She's standing behind one of the tables, working on something - maybe she was slicing bread because I remember she had a knife in her hand. She won't look at me.

"'What's your name,' I ask her real gentle like and she says - almost a whisper - 'Danea Townsend.' 'There's an Aiden Townsend in my regiment,' I tell her, 'and he's a ball buster for certain.' She laughs and says that was true. She finally looks up at me but she's holding her hand over her mouth and she's smiling. But tears are dripping down her face.

"There wasn't a ring on her finger, so I think things just might turn about. 'Pleased to meet you, Miss ... Missus ... Townsend,' I say, still keeping my distance and being all gentle with her.

"'Miss,' she says and she's looking down at her hands. I step closer and put my hand under her chin to lift her face to mine." Colin took a moment to savor the memory. "She ... she melted against me like she'd done that all her life and I kissed her." He had to stop there for a few moments, his heart a tearing pain in his chest. He coughed to clear his throat and buy himself some time. He dared to look at the jug with longing but the old man didn't offer any of the drink to wash down the dust.

"Just the same, she turned me down that night. We crossed paths again some months later and that's when she told me Aiden is her son and him almost my age," Colin continued. "Of course it was too late; she had me around her little finger by then."

"She got a good hold on something," Duglas said and Clarendon laughed and slapped his knee.

Clarendon wiped his eyes then looked up at Colin. "She knew," he said as he shook his finger at Colin. "But some women are slaves to their hearts, bless 'em. Or else there'd be a damn sight fewer of us assholes 'bout."

Colin frowned at the old man, who was still softly chuckling. He was of half a mind to remind him that being an ass came in many degrees and some men weren't that way at all. "What did she know?" he finally prompted Clarendon.

"She knew you would hurt her," Clarendon said, the smile now gone from his face. "You said she has a son almost your age so she's quite a bit older than you." At Colin's nod, he went on. "She also knew she would let you." The old man leaned back in his chair and Colin was surprised it didn't break even with what little weight was left on the old man's bones. "You're a damn idiot, mister."

"Don't be making out you've got it all figured," Duglas said. "If that was true, you'd still have Jad."

"And that's enough of that, young'un. I'll admit to being too late smart, youngster," Clarendon said. "If I knew then what I know now, she'd be waitin' for me in my bed right now." He looked out the doorway at the hard, dry land beyond. "Our bed," he said softly.

Colin settled back and looked elsewhere, giving the man his solitude. Too late smart. The old man had the right of it. Clarendon suddenly barked out a laugh and Colin jerked his head around to look at him, thinking the old man had gone daft.

"How'd you get out of Stormwind, Duglas," Clarendon said still laughing. At the other man's thunderous frown he out and out cackled like an old woman. "See where he's sittin'?" he said as he pointed at Colin. "You're kin but he's sitting at dead center of both of us. The poor boy don't trust neither one of us! You took him through the pipe, didn't you." At Colin's curt nod, the old man threw back his head and roared with laughter.

Duglas waited patiently for Clarendon's laughter-turned-coughing-fit to end before motioning to Colin. "Give him your pack, cousin." At Colin's frown he smiled and said, "Your water too. As far as we've got to go, we've got plenty."


	21. Chapter 21

"Well I must say this has been a nice visit," the old man finally said. He winked at Colin as he handed over the food and water bags. "Always nice to leave on a high note." He set the goods on the floor beside him then swung about in his chair and nodded to Duglas. "I wish I could say I'd be a different person if I'd had the chance. A better son; a better husband. Looking back I swear there were times I musta been flat out insane." He shook his head. "Truth be known I'd turn out just as stupid as the first time.

"Well, like I said, I'm goin' south." The old man's voice was suddenly firm and hard edged. "I hope they send you after me, Duglas. I know you'll be quick."

Duglas had relaxed into his chair and had propped his feet up on the end of the bedframe, making himself thoroughly at home. He made no answer to the old man and his face revealed nothing of what he was thinking. Colin wondered if this was an often discussed matter between them, given how quiet and composed both men were.

"And I want to thank you for your story, there youngster," Clarendon said, turning to Colin. "It reminded me of something I'd forgotten, sad to say." He looked out the doorway to the dry land beyond. "What's dust can be green again."

He turned back to Colin and the intensity in his dark eyes was so startling a shiver ran up Colin's spine. "Lost my mam and my da to the wasting disease. The older they got, the younger they were in their heads. Then they were like babes in their beds, only they were senseless lumps of meat waiting to die. They never realized how much they had forgotten." He turned to Duglas. "Don't go all girly on me, Duglas. Dry your tears. Remember what I told you - you can't miss what you don't remember having."

Colin looked past the old man to study his cousin's face but he saw none of the softening in his features from the heartfelt concern he had been accused of showing. At the dull metallic gleam of something in the old man's hand, Colin looked down and saw that he was holding an old pocket watch made of a dulled, gold-colored metal.

"My da's watch. It's been true for longer than I've been alive." He opened its cover with the edge of his thumbnail and studied its face. "It told me it was time to go not too long ago." He closed the watch's case and then stroked its worn surface with his thumb. "The day I looked at it and thought the hands were going the wrong way, that's when I knew I had the disease too. I couldn't remember which way they were supposed to go. That's when I knew it was time." He shook his head, his eyes still on the watch and a thin smile twisting his lips to one side. "It's time to move on. I've stayed only to wait for you, Duglas. I want you to have it."

The old man got to his feet and held out the watch for Duglas, who took it as if it meant nothing to him. "Things are set in Moonbrook. Go to the fountain at the usual time." Then without a further word to either Colin or Duglas he picked up the food and water bags and walked out the door.

Colin looked over his shoulder at his cousin, wondering if he dared ask Duglas about his strange friend named Clare and the disease he had. Rogues didn't have friends but that he thought a lot of the old man was plain. It was a dangerous weakness for those who lived through lies and apparently Duglas had broken that rule.

"There's that sad look again," Duglas said as he tucked the watch away to an inner shirt pocket. "People walk out doors all the time. Sometimes they even come in them."

Stung by his cousin's mocking tone of voice, Colin leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, his eyes lighting on no particular object. Wrapped up in the other men's conversation he'd forgotten how hot it was and with the old man gone, suddenly the heat was back in full force. Outside a side window, the sky was white as if the heat had burned all the blue out of it and turned it to ash. No sound broke upon the silence, not even a fly's droning buzz.

"This can't be the same sun that shines in Elwyn Forest," Colin finally said. He was mighty tired of the silence and the bleak view on the other side of what dirty glass remained in the windows. "Certainly a lot hotter here."

"Yes, of course it's the same sun," Duglas said. "There are mountains north of Stormwind that are high enough to keep their snow. Maybe that's why it's cooler there. Or maybe it's the mountain themselves that make it rain more often there than here." His chair creaked as he shifted in its seat. "This used to be good farming land. Not a lot of rain but the wells were always full. Then they started drying up, one by one. The farms failed and people started leaving. Some stayed to work the mine but there's never been much that came out of it."

He settled back into his chair again amid its loud protests and closed his eyes. "You take first watch. Let me know when you can't stay awake."

Colin moved to a corner where he had a clear view out most of the windows and the sun wouldn't be chasing him from it for a while. It was too damn hot to be up and patrolling. The withered grass and the still air spoke of a slow, inescapable death under a relentless sun that burned saint and sinner alike. As much as he admired his cousin's ability to sleep, he didn't feel jealous. He knew he couldn't do the same, not with all that bleak emptiness staring back at him. It was a lie really. Everyone knew the land harbored murderers and thieves waiting for a momentary weakness.


	22. Chapter 22

"You still keep up with your blacksmithing?"

Colin started as if a cannon had gone off beside him. His cousin had spoken softly but after hours of silence on both sides of the house's walls, the sound of Duglas's voice was like a lion's roar during church services. He took a moment to calm himself. "I keep a hand in, yes, but nothing special," he said then turned his face to the window again, hoping his cousin would take the hint.

"Why not? You used to do some good work."

Colin clenched his teeth and concentrated on the view beyond the broken and dirty pieces of glass in the window. "Didn't matter, not when the dwarves could make better without thinking about it," he finally said. He looked down at his hands, each scar a story of how he had struggled to perfect the weapons he had made. That half circle on the inside of his right thumb for example. The very sword that Samuelson had ended up buying had fought him like a beast and bit deep; he'd almost lost his thumb. The pain and the blood ... He clenched his fists. He had seen the bastard's hands caress its hilt as if he knew the pain it had caused him.

Duglas stretched out a leg and nudged his chair and at the slight moment Colin felt the anger grab and twist his spine. He jumped to his feet and whirled about, both fists at the ready. "Leave me be," he growled. "You can't sell what people won't buy, dammit."

As cool as if they were talking about the weather, Duglas unlaced one hand from where it had lain with its mate across his belly to scratch his ribs. "Then do it for the love of it," he said quietly.

"Love doesn't pay the rent or put food on the table," Colin shouted. Sweat ran down the side of his face and he clawed at the tickle. The patch of skin burned; he'd cut himself and salt had entered the wound to make it sting. "It doesn't get you want you want." He rubbed his face with both hands, his body shaking. He wanted to hit something; break it; hear the pieces bounce off the walls. He wanted to fight until he couldn't feel anything but that pain and not the one inside his heart.

Duglas has relaxed deep into his chair, his face smooth and noncommittal. His fingers were intertwined across his middle again. Colin stared down at him, his hands itching to jerk him out of his seat when a sudden half realized thought cooled his temper. Duglas had intentionally pushed at every sore spot on his soul while acting the concerned kith and kin. That was certainly out of character for him. Colin turned his chair about and sat in it to face his cousin. Then crossing his arms he tightly hugged his chest and met Duglas's half-lidded scrutiny with a look as black as his temper. He grit his teeth, damning himself for playing the fool and dancing to his cousin's tune.

"Well then, when we get to town you should mention you know a trade and you're looking for work," Duglas calmly said. "That aura of quiet desperation will come in handy." He held up a hand to forestall another outburst Colin felt building in his spine and legs. "It is important." His face radiated heartfelt concern but Colin knew it for a lie.

"I'm not saying that to hurt your feelings, princess," Duglas said as he sat up straighter in the rickety chair. "Listen to me, Colin. I know you love the craft because I've seen it in your face. I've seen it move you to anger, to tears and sometimes to joy. You see something in the metal and you do not rest until you make it come out. Of course you love it; why else the madness?"

"And this is something you want to use," Colin answered slowly. "Something you can use to your own ends."

Duglas shrugged and smiled. "We each have our loves, cousin." He leaned forward and clapped Colin on the shoulder. "The curtain rises and the play is on."

"And what is my part to play," Colin said as he got to his feet. "I don't have any experience with role playing."

"It certainly shows, cousin," Duglas laughed. "You will play the part of an ordinary soldier with woman problems, who has been wrongly accused of the attempted murder of one of the king's men."

"In other words, I am to be myself," Colin said. "Since I haven't the wit to maintain a disguise."

Duglas smiled and nodded as he stood. "You are an easy mark; you spoil my fun." As he headed for the empty doorway he brushed by with a light touch on Colin's arm, then suddenly turned and grabbed his shoulder. "Be as you are with no artifice," he said, his eyes boring into Colin's. "Our lives will depend on that very thing." He held that pose for a moment longer and then he went outside.

Colin stared after him and wondered what part of his cousin's game had just then been put into motion. He looked back into the house with its broken furniture and shattered windows. He silently wished the old man all the best and a safe journey south, then turned to follow his cousin.


	23. Chapter 23

"Settle down," Duglas growled. "You're jumpier than a squirrel out of his tree."

Colin looked down at the ground where fine dust was kicked up with every tread and sighed. His boots and pants up to his knees were covered in the powdery stuff.

"Maybe it is the trees I'm missing," he said. He stopped and looked up at the sky arching over them without a break in the milky haze that went from one horizon to the other. The sun had fallen until it was low to the horizon but that did not mean the air had lost any of its furnace heat. Colin turned to his cousin to see Duglas had stopped as well and watched him with open amusement.

"Maybe it's the lack of green," Colin said as he started walking again. "This land is dead."

"Ah, so you're just as good a farmer as you are a blacksmith," Duglas said lightly as he fell in step beside him.

"I've seen enough killing fields," Colin said, ignoring his cousin's gibe. He jerked his chin at the black birds roosting on the broken fence that lined the road. "Those crows aren't afraid of us. They're waiting for us to be still long enough for them to attack."

"Just stop turning your head so much and certainly stop looking behind us," Duglas said. "Being so nervous is an open invitation to be robbed out here or killed just for the sport."

They continued in silence, a hot dusty passage Colin knew led to a trap. He was Duglas's bait and whatever his cousin had contrived, when it came down to it he wouldn't have a chance to at least defend himself. If Duglas was armed his weapons were too well concealed for him to tell for certain. At the moment the old saying that rogues were never without a weapon was poor comfort.

The dark toothy smudge on the horizon became a range of worn mountains and a small town at their feet. Moonbrook. The buildings were one deep on both sides of the road, the wood they were made from greyed and silvered by the sun. The road became a footpath through tall, dead grass and boards lay on the ground where they had fallen from the structures. A large fountain made of a pale stone had been built next to the road where it made an acute left-handed turn. Nothing moved, not even a stray cat.

Duglas stopped next to the fountain, folded his arms across his chest and turned to face the largest building in the town. Colin let him be and stood back. He figured there was no need for him to stand equal with his cousin.

It would seem they were to wait so Colin left Duglas to do the watching. The fountain was dry; dirt and leaves had collected in the bottom and it tilted to one side. At the top was a statue of a man with both hands on the hilt of a long sword, its point planted downward before him. It wasn't until he looked down again at the fountain's base that he noticed the naked women carved into it. Surprised and a little unsettled he directed his eyes elsewhere.

Some of the town's buildings had their windows boarded up but most gaped without even a shard of glass. There was an inn, a schoolhouse and a smithy, all in disrepair. One large house had a stables behind it, but there were no horses or cattle. The large building Duglas watched was in better shape but not by much.

Duglas jerked his chin up but Colin couldn't see who he had acknowledged. A few moments later three men walked out of the building and stopped several feet from them. They were all dressed in dusty clothing, their pants faded at the knees and the bottom half of their faces covered with grey cloth.

"No work here. Move on," the middle one announced, his hands on his swords' hilts.

"Not what I've been told," Duglas said. "Rodedrick sent us, said you needed blacksmiths. You Hawley?"

"Where's your tools?," the middle one said. His manner neither confirmed nor denied Duglas' question. Colin didn't want to answer but Duglas bumped his arm. "I had to leave,' Colin began then decided to change certain details. "We weren't able to get them. We had to leave them behind."

The spokesman for the group nodded. "You're lying," he said with disgust. "We don't need any more beggars looking for handouts here."

"I'm no beggar," Colin retorted, stung by the insult. "We made the finest weapons in Stormwind before the dwarves took our business."

"Really, now," the man said. "Let's just see about that." He signaled to his fellows, who drew their blades. "Take them to the smithy," he said. He whistled and several dogs came out from behind the large building. "Mind your manners, gentlemen, or the dogs will forget theirs."

Colin was surprised by the man's decision but had sense enough not to look to Duglas for an explanation. If his cousin had an understanding with these thieves he'd best keep his mouth shut. Duglas had nearly killed him once; the next time might be more permanent.

The man led the way to the forge and once there, stopped and pointed to a pile of broken weapons and tools in a corner. "A master blacksmith should be able to find the gold in that pile of dross," he said.

"Get the fire going," Colin ordered and then like a hound to his prey, he pushed past the guards to get to the pile of discarded metal. Duglas called after him, but he ignored him. In for a copper; in for a gold.

There were the usual bits and leftovers, some of it rusted together in large clumps. He looked about the room until he found the tool he wanted and took down a hammer. He smashed the lumps and sorted the fragments, hoping he would have enough to make a decent knife. One dark bit drew his eye and he took it to the doorway for the extra light to examine it. It looked like a hilt but it was made of the wrong material - unless ... On his way back in he took up a punch and placing the lump in the vise, he hammered a hole into it. He blew the cavity clean and the white fire of truesilver winked back at him. A family heirloom perhaps, made of one of the rarest metals and hidden for the gods only knew how long.

"Something wrong," one of the guards said from the doorway.

"Not at all," Colin said and tossed the lump in the 'good' pile with a pang of sorrow that something so old and once cherished had to be melted down to save his sorry soul.


	24. Chapter 24

Colin turned to the still unnamed leader of the masked strangers. "I need people on the bellows," he said. He nodded towards the other two disguised men. "Preferably people who wouldn't rather see me dead."

He then turned his back on the man, figuring that trading further words on the matter wouldn't do him any good. There wouldn't be anything made if the ore didn't get hot enough to melt. He went digging through the corners of the old forge and found a good sized crucible and an old dagger mold. The form had seen many years of hard use, but there were ways of correcting its faults. The shape of the weapon was an old one - a shortened leaf blade with a long tang for the handle. There was also a four slot ingot form and he picked it up just in case there was any left-over pour. As for the other materials he needed, the nearest greenery was miles away and he would have to make do with the scraps of old hide he found moldering away under a bench.

At least they did get the furnace lit and he went to inspect the fuel they were using. Someone familiar with the art of smelting had had carts of charcoal brought in and Duglas was among those who had been roped into feeding the fuel into the furnace. They had also found helpers - men, women and youngsters who looked reasonably healthy but they refused to meet his eyes. They shied away from Colin as if they expected him to lash out at them. The dogs ignored them. Actually every single one of _them_ was watching him. Suddenly they were all on their feet, ears perked and their bodies tense as they leaned forward with their heads high. He frowned at them, then choosing to ignore his four-legged guards, Colin continued with his inspection. With this many people the fire would be ready in a few hours.

The preparation of the iron ore and the limestone he trusted no one but himself. His life depended on the proper size of the gravel each material was to be crushed down to and he ran his fingers through the piles to check and double check for pieces that were still too large. The lack of fresh greenery was a nagging worry but his work would be damned if he used dead straw. He pushed back his hair in frustration, cursing its short length, though it wouldn't have helped even if he had had hair down to the ground. Grabbing his shirt front he raised it to wipe his face and then realized it was made of linen. The cloth had more strength in its fibers than the straw, making it the better candidate. He stood and jerked it off, then tore it into strips.

The first layer of ore in the crucible was sprinkled with water, then covered with bits of the hide and his shirt. Next went a layer of the already worked iron with the trusilver hilt pushed into the middle of it. More hide and cloth went over the top, then another layer of the moistened ore with a final layer of crushed limestone.

Ore from deep within the ground mixed with that which grew on the world's shell, brought together and made anew through the elemental forces of Fire and Air. If the pour went well and it was willing to lie under his hand and accept his shaping, it was more the metal's whim than his craft. Even the dwarves, who treated all metals as kin and claimed knowledge of their secret names, would have doubts about this smelting. Steel was its own master; mankind would never completely subjugate it.

Colin nodded to the masked leader, signaling the crucible was ready for the pit. Everything was in the fire now.

He went back to the anvil and started cleaning up the area. It was more like the original blacksmith had just up and went than anything else. All the proper tools were lying around as if dropped in place and abandoned. Dirt had been blown in and about and was largely undisturbed. He picked up a broom and inspected the bristles. It showed hard use but hadn't been gnawed by rats or termites.

Once he had his work place decently cleaned he went to check on the furnace. The hubbub had calmed down some and Duglas was talking to one of the masked men. They looked quite comfortable with each other. It suddenly occurred to Colin that all the effort the strangers had expended for him to make one little item was extraordinary. Why did it matter how good a blacksmith he was? He stepped back and turned away, suddenly at a loss.

Why was he here, now? What had he done? He put his back to the wall and wiped his face with both hands, pushing them over his head and clenching them together behind his neck. He missed Danea. Telling the old man about her had brought back so many good memories. It was very moment he had decided to set Danea aside - that's when he had put his feet on the path to this place and time. He had to find his way back to her. No matter what he regretted or desired, he was in deep and the only way out was to push through it. The gods willing she would be waiting for him. That's how he had survived so many campaigns - knowing she was waiting for him. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then resumed his walk to the furnace. As soon as the stranger talking with Duglas saw him, he turned away and left the building.

"Just checkin' to see if it's soup, yet," Colin said to Duglas. "I'm curious about something - why are they doing all of this for me?"

Duglas snorted. "You stomped past them to get to those tools like they were trespassing in your shop. I'd say you pretty much showed them you do know your way around a smithy." He looked beyond Colin to scan the room. "They are not stupid," he said carefully, then studied Colin's face for a moment. "What's bothering you?"

"I don't have the best materials to work with," Colin said. "I have no faith in the pour."

"Then put your faith in something better," Dugas said and clapped Colin on the shoulder with one hand. "Have faith in yourself, cousin."

Colin frowned back at him, irritated by the glib response. He had a lot of questions for this smooth talking kinsman but he was at loss as how to voice them. A foul string of curses bubbled up in his throat but he choked it back down. Here though was a good place and time to pull back the troops and reassess the engagement. Damn but he hated being a simple foot soldier again.


	25. Chapter 25

A slight sound woke Colin from sleep he had not intended to take. Angry at being caught out twice over, he clumsily scrambled to this feet, his fists up and ready.

"Heh, good to see the rogue in you hasn't fallen too far out of the tree," Duglas said over the dogs' growling. He shushed them and tossed a handful of cloth at Colin's feet. "I found you a shirt and a leather apron. They say the pour is ready."

Colin accepted the proffered clothing with the grim thought of a future delousing and then gave the garments a vigorous shake before shrugging into them. Duglas led the way to the forge, the dogs bringing up the rear. The four slot ingot form and one for a short dagger were lined up on a low bench. The crucible had already been raised out of the fire pit and the two men carrying it were carefully walking it to the forge. Behind them followed another man, the kilter judging by the long pole in his hand. Colin pushed past Duglas to see if the forms had been properly cleaned and prepared.

He waved the men away when they stopped in front of the dagger mold. "Pour out some to the ingot mold first," he said pointing at the other form. "I want the heart of the pour for the dagger."

Without saying a word the men shuffled to the side so to reach where the ingot form lay. The kilter latched his pole to the underside of the crucible and at a word from one of the men, the kilter pulled and the molten metal flowed into one of the slots without a single spill. They were a good and experienced team, Colin noted with satisfaction. After the dagger form had been filled there had been enough to make another ingot while the third slot lacked half as much to be filled.

The color of the molten ore was like that of the sun's glory and the world's blood and a deep place within him rejoiced as its heat washed over him. He felt good about the pour now and eagerly waited for the moment he would have the metal under his hand. The white fire joy of making again raced through him as he remembered how the metal would sing as he shaped it and hardened its cutting edge. Suddenly it wasn't too hot anymore.

...

Colin looked up from his first polish of the blade to find he had an audience. The man they had met at the fountain - Duglas had called him Hawlsey; or had it been Holly? - and one of his men were standing just out of reach. They didn't say anything so he continued his work after shaking out a crawling sensation between his shoulder blades. He had been so engrossed in his work he hadn't noticed them coming up on him.

The metal had a strange sheen, not unlike the cloth of Danea's favorite dress. He had never seen the like on any other blade. There were darker and lighter flecks throughout the blade as if the different metals had not completely mixed. Was that the truesilver's fault? Would the blade shatter at the first throw?

The two men had not moved. Colin swallowed his worry and walked over to them, knife in hand. "I need to test it," he said, holding it out to the leader who didn't move to take it. "Or you can."

"Take it," the man said, his words meant for the lackey at his side though his eyes never left Colin's face.

Colin lightly tossed it in the air to save a cut to his hand and the man caught it with a graceful snatch that was almost theatrical. They turned to go outside and Colin followed them, a forgotten dog at their heels. He paused in the doorway of the forge to allow his eyes to adjust to the bright daylight. At first he was puzzled that the sun was at the same height as he had last seen it and then he realized he'd lost an entire day working on the dagger.

The other two men had walked on and had stopped in front of a deserted house. Colin jogged over to them just as the lackey threw the knife at one of the thick beams framing the doorway. It flew straight and true and sank a good two finger joints into the dead wood. The man walked up to where it stood proud and hit the side of the blade with his fist. Colin nearly cried out in horror. The metal had withstood the blow however and even seemed to have flexed under it. He eyed the weapon, completely mystified by its strange properties.

The two men stared wordlessly at each other and then at Colin. "You got yourself a job, mister," the leader said as he pulled the knife free. He nodded to the man beside him. "Take him in."

"Wait," Colin said as the lackey started for him. "What about my friend?" The leader turned and went back to the forge without acknowledging he had heard his shout. The other man jerked his arm, spinning him about and then pushed him towards the barn. Apparently that was all the answer he was going to get.

The inside of the barn was dimly lit, the lamps placed to leave shadows in the corners rather than to illuminate the large room. Colin took a moment to let his eyes adjust and the lackey didn't push him on - a tribute to his new status perhaps? At one time the barn must have been glorious, as barns go. The floor was a good quality flagstone and the woodwork had discrete decorative finishes. As they went further into the building, he saw bundles of shovels and picks leaning against the walls as well as stacks of shaped wooden planks and posts. He decided they were not too concerned about housekeeping when he saw the picked clean skeletons of two oxen, still in harness, in their stall.

The other man led the way up a set of stairs to the hayloft which had a large wooden panel hanging on the back wall. Stopping at the far edge of the panel, he bared his teeth in a malicious smile at Colin before sliding it to one side, revealing a huge opening. He stepped out onto another walkway and whistled loudly. The sound echoed for a long time before fading. Then Colin heard running feet, the sound changing as they passed over different materials, until their owners came to a standstill outside the door.

"Go get Marisa and Rhahk'Zor and tell them I have a new toy for them to play with," the lackey said to one of the runners. He leaned back into the doorway and motioned at Colin to follow him. "This is going to be good," he said and threw back his head and laughed.


	26. Chapter 26

The world went still as the lackey and his cohorts watched Colin from the dimly lit landing. Surely it was the gods who held time in check so to mock him with the cruel jest that he had a fair choice before him. He could either follow the bandits further into the mine and damnation or he could turn about and run. The lackey's toothy grin, brimming with malice, slowly widened as if he was in on the joke. Colin stepped forward, not sure if he was pushed onward by the hope that he would survive what lay ahead or pure blind anger.

One of the bandits took a lit torch from an overhead sconce and led the way down with the lackey at his heels. The other two fell in behind Colin. Their steps echoed in the close space and the further they descended, the colder the air became. At one point their guide called out a soft warning to slow down and watch their step. Ahead a narrow wooden platform without railings spanned a wide shaft of which both ends above and below were lost in darkness. Something about it tickled Colin's curiosity but he couldn't place why. Apparently he was not to stop and think about it; a firm push from behind propelled him onward.

Finally they reached what could only be the bottom as the tunnel floor was now wider and had a smoother finish. There was a definite dampness in the air. Ahead of them came the industrious sounds of metal and stone being worked and he smelled the metallic tang of smoke from a forge. The rocky tunnel opened into a huge, well lit cavern where people were busy shaping the rough walls or pushing wheelbarrows of dirt and stone away. Most of the workers were bare chested men and all wore a goodly span of red cloth tied around the bottom half of their faces. Torches had been set above a tall man's reach along the walls but the light did not reveal how far up the ceiling went. For all the moisture in the air the walls appeared dry.

The lackey grabbed Colin by his upper arm and jerked him forward. "You're coming with me," he said as he then released him and walked around a corner without looking back. The man's helpers pushed Colin on from behind and he shook free to favor them with a scowl. It was a threat empty of immediate consequences and damn few future ones, but what the hell, he thought.

He turned around and the sight of a gigantic pair of dirty, bare feet caught him up short. His eyes followed their equally naked attachments up to a gigantic filthy loincloth. At that point he had to look away, not only because of that startling sight but also the smell.

A damn ogre. Colin clapped both hands over his nose and mouth and frantically looked about for a place to vomit. He suddenly had an overpowering urge to sneeze and the explosive motion rocked him back on his heels. He swallowed the mouthful of bile and silently prayed it would stay put. Tears and snot streamed down his face and he wiped them away with his shirttail, glad to have the extra thickness over his nose.

"Rhahk'Zor does have that effect on strangers," the lackey said, obviously pleased by Colin's distress. "Mind your manners - he doesn't speak proper but he does understand what you say." The lackey then turned about to face the direction they had come, his stance suggesting he expected someone to join them. Colin searched the others' faces but they only frowned back at him. Just as he was about to settle to the floor and rest his legs, he heard voices coming closer.

Four men strode into the room, workers by the look of their worn and crudely patched clothing. They all wore heavy cloth pants and full length leather aprons but their red masks were lying loose about their necks. The strength in every line of their shoulders and arms and the wear patches on their clothing marked them all as blacksmiths.

Colin was willing to bet they had a good idea of what metals had been used to make the knife already. Withholding the addition of truesilver to his build would result in needless pain. He meant to get out of this place and he'd best keep healthy enough to do so. While all of them wore an air of smug confidence, none looked like the leader of a church service much less the leader of a gang of thieves and cutthroats.

"Tell us how you made the knife," the one yellow haired member of the group said, his voice calm and laced with authority. "Every detail. Especially where did you get the truesilver."

And there it was, first throw. "It was in a pile of rubbish ..."

"Nonsense! Every bit of metal out there has been checked, twice over if not more," one of the other men shouted. "You brought it with you."

"It had been covered with a dull black substance. I didn't know the bit was truesilver until I punched a hole in it."

"And yet you didn't tell the guards," another commented, his words heavy with accusations. "Why is that?"

Colin shrugged, returning the man's sour look with one of his own. "Truesilver does improve the metal. Since I didn't have much to work with as it was..." He studied each of them in turn. They were purposely testing his defenses; damn if he was going to make it easy. "My life depended on making the best thing I could with the deck stacked against me."

"Do you know what this black substance was?" Yellow-hair calmly said and the atmosphere greatly eased. At Colin's regretful shrug he motioned he was to continue.

He told them everything, even the heaviness of the linen thread his mother had used to weave his shirt. They all had questions and at first they would signal to the spokesman at certain points to ask Colin to explain in greater detail. They soon dropped that strategy in their eagerness as all joined in the conversation and began trading stories.

At one point Colin caught himself greatly enjoying this conversation with his peers. An odd sound and then movement caught in the corner of his eye made him turn and he found himself under the contemptuous study of one of the men. He was dressed in the same worn, dark leathers as the others but the red cloth about his neck was clean and bright. The bandit tinker's mocking amusement didn't fade at Colin's frown. A shiver raced up his spine and Colin realized these men were using the professional camaraderie he felt to bleed every ounce of knowledge out of him. He coughed and asked for water to give himself time to recover. Dammit, would he never learn?


	27. Chapter 27

A sudden blast of cheap perfume assaulted Colin's nose and then two small, warm hands curled around his upper arm like wayward, adoring pet cats. At his startled look down past them to their owner, the young woman unabashedly bared her teeth in what she plainly thought was an inviting smile. Her long yellow hair shimmered as she nestled against him, her cheek a spot of feverish heat against his skin. "So you're the one who made that beautiful knife," she purred. "You must make a set for me."

"Marisa, my dear, so sweet of you to join us." It was the dark-eyed haughty tinker. He smiled at Colin much like the owner of a clever animal smiles at the beast's adorable, carefree antics. He then turned to the girl. "Where is your charge?"

"I was just on my way back to her," Marisa said as she released Colin. She straightened and patted the satchel that hung at her hip. "I have her lunch and food for ..." She glanced at Colin and smirked. "... the dog. Will you be joining us for dinner this evening?"

"I will see if that can be arranged," he said, then stepped aside so the young woman could pass. "Until then, Marisa," he said firmly when she didn't move. He frowned at her to further strengthen the hint she was to leave. Apparently the girl wasn't used to being ordered about like a lowly servant's child. Her look of confusion was quickly wiped away as her face flushed with high color but she did as she was told.

"Come with me; I'll show you where you are to work," the tinker said. "Then we can have our own midday repast as well."

He took down a torch and led the way into the deep shadows at the end of the cavern. A line of several crudely excavated doorways were revealed, with an even deeper murkiness beyond each opening. The tinker took the doorway to the far right without hesitation as if at home among the shadows. Colin followed him into the cold darkness that wrapped around him in damp curtains.

Along the way they passed huge bays carved out of the rock, lighted by roaring fires or furnaces where goblins and the towering ogres labored. One such alcove was almost as big as a dwarven hall where the mob of workers was shaping a massive tree. Colin stopped in open-mouthed wonder at the sight but the tinker grabbed him by his shirt sleeve and jerked him back into motion.

The darkness closed in about them again and Colin could hear water dripping. A whisper of sound made him stop to look into a darker span and a glint of reflected light caught his eye. He moved closer and saw that inside the opening water was pooling around a grated hatch with a large red sillcock. It appeared to have been abandoned; spider webs hung about the machinery, glittering with water droplets.

Light bloomed behind him but he hadn't heard the tinker's footsteps. Colin turned to see the man waiting for him. "It's not wise to wander off alone in here. Some people never come back out of the darkness." The tinker turned about and resumed walking. "I have better things to show you."

The tinker's words danced about in the dark, their echoes whispering from all about him. Colin ducked his head and followed him, mortified he had been caught running off like a child after a shiny toy.

The air became warmer and laced with smoke as they traveled. A bit further and he could smell hot metal and hear it being struck as if by tools; a smithy? Light from the tinker's torch revealed an immense double door and he waved to Colin to help him open one side. Heat swirled around them as it was released, a pet hurricane suddenly free. Colin shivered as the fiery air banished a chill he hadn't realized had settled into his bones. Ah, yes! A right proper forge indeed, he thought.

Their footsteps clattered as they descended the metal stairs, sending echoes dancing and shivering around the room. At the bottom was a massive forge that almost took up the entire room. Its smoke stack was as big around as four men. Heat bellowed from its mouth, the flames lighting up a scene from hell itself. Goblins and ogres feverishly worked at anvils ringed about the furnace, making a glorious din.

The tinker would not let him stop and see what they were making, but pushed him to another tall, double door. Two gigantic statues stood on either side of the opening and Colin leaned closer to see they were made of metal instead of stone. One of the things began to creak and groan and he saw its eyes open, revealing unblinking red lights. The tinker grabbed his arm and motioned he was to help open one side of the door. Cold air whipped about them as they worked to push the enormous slab of metal aside. As soon as the opening was large enough for them to go through, the tinker pulled Colin into the next chamber.

A wall of wooden planks that almost went as high as the stone ceiling was the first thing Colin saw and then he realized it was a ship. He gasped at the size of it. The king himself did not have a ship of the line that big. Its masts were whole trees, monstrous trees that not even a giant could wrap its arms about them. Hundreds of creatures and men crawled and walked about the ship's decks and the din of their industry echoed in the vast cavern. Colin realized he was standing slack jawed at this tremendous sight and turned to find the tinker.

"Yes, it does take one's breath away, doesn't it," the tinker said with a smug grin. He turned back to the strange ship. "I've created a new word for it - dreadnaught."


End file.
